UC-NRLF 


SB    2MD    722 


GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


V 


m 


H 


\ 


American 


EDITED   BY 


JOHN  T.  MORSE,  JR. 


Stmerican  ,£tate£men 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 


BY 


HENRY  CABOT  LODGE 

\  i 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  I. 


UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLTN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfc  fttoertfibe  $res£,  Cambridge 

1890 


Copyright,  1889, 
BY  HENRY  CABOT  LODGE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Iloughton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

INTRODUCTION 1 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  OLD  DOMINION 15 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  WASHINGTONS 29 

CHAPTER  III. 
ON  THE  FRONTIEB 52 

CHAPTER  IV. 
LOVE  AND  MABRIAGE 92 

CHAPTER  V. 
TAKING  COMMAND      . 125 

CHAPTER  VL 
SAVING  THE  REVOLUTION    .  .  154 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 
"MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY"      ....  180 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  ALLIES 234 

CHAPTER  IX. 
ARNOLD'S  TREASON,  AND  THE  WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH     .  264 

CHAPTER  X. 
YORKTOWN 293 

CHAPTER  XI. 
PEACB  .  .  318 


INTKODUCTION. 


FEBRUARY  9th  in  the  year  1800  was  a  gala  day 
in  Paris.  Napoleon  had  decreed  a  triumphal  pro 
cession,  and  on  that  day  a  splendid  military  cere 
mony  was  performed  in  the  Champ  de  Mars,  and 
the  trophies  of  the  Egyptian  expedition  were  ex- 
ultingly  displayed.  There  were,  however,  two  fea 
tures  in  all  this  pomp  and  show  which  seemed 
strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the  glittering  pa 
geant  and  the  sounds  of  victorious  rejoicing.  The 
standards  and  flags  of  the  army  were  hung  with 
crape,  and  after  the  grand  parade  the  dignitaries 
of  the  land  proceeded  solemnly  to  the  Temple  of 
Mars,  and  heard  the  eloquent  M.  de  Fontanes 
deliver  an  "  Eloge  Funebre."  1 

1  A  report  recently  discovered  shows  that  more  even  was  in 
tended  than  was  actually  done. 

The  following  is  a  translation  of  the  paper,  the  original  of 
which  is  Nos.  172  and  173  of  volume  51  of  the  manuscript  series 
known  as  Etats-Unis,  1799,  1800  (years  7  and  8  of  the  French 
republic) :  — 

"Report  of  Talleyrand,  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  on  the  occasion 

of  the  death  of  George  Washington. 

"  A  nation  which  some  day  will  be  a  great  nation,  and  which  to 
day  is  the  wisest  and  happiest  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  weeps  at 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

About  the  same  time,  if  tradition  may  be  trusted, 
the  flags  upon  the  conquering  Channel  fleet  of  Eng 
land  were  lowered  to  half-mast  in  token  of  grief 

the  bier  of  a  man  whose  courage  and  genius  contributed  the  most  to 
free  it  from  bondage,  and  elevate  it  to  the  rank  of  an  independent 
and  sovereign  power.  The  regrets  caused  by  the  death  of  this  great 
man,  the  memories  aroused  by  these  regrets,  and  a  proper  venera 
tion  for  all  that  is  held  dear  and  sacred  by  mankind,  impel  us  to 
give  expression  to  our  sentiments  by  taking  part  in  an  event 
which  deprives  the  world  of  one  of  its  brightest  ornaments,  and 
removes  to  the  realm  of  history  one  of  the  noblest  lives  that  ever 
honored  the  human  race. 

' '  The  name  of  Washington  is  inseparably  linked  with  a  memo 
rable  epoch.  He  adorned  this  epoch  by  his  talents  and  the  nobil 
ity  of  his  character,  and  with  virtues  that  even  envy  dared  not  as 
sail.  History  offers  few  examples  of  such  renown.  Great  from 
the  outset  of  his  career,  patriotic  before  his  country  had  become  a 
nation,  brilliant  and  universal  despite  the  passions  and  political 
resentments  that  would  gladly  have  checked  his  career,  his  fame 
is  to-day  imperishable,  —  fortune  having  consecrated  his  claim 
to  greatness,  while  the  prosperity  of  a  people  destined  for  grand 
achievements  is  the  best  evidence  of  a  fame  ever  to  increase. 

"His  own  country  now  honors  his  memory  with  funeral  cere 
monies,  having  lost  a  citizen  whose  public  actions  and  unassuming 
grandeur  in  private  life  were  a  living  example  of  courage,  wisdom, 
and  unselfishness ;  and  France,  which  from  the  dawn  of  the  Amer 
ican  Revolution  hailed  with  hope  a  nation,  hitherto  unknown,  that 
was  discarding  the  vices  of  Europe,  which  foresaw  all  the  glory 
that  this  nation  would  bestow  on  humanity,  and  the  enlightenment 
of  governments  that  would  ensue  from  the  novel  character  of  the 
social  institutions  and  the  new  type  of  heroism  of  which  Washing 
ton  and  America  were  models  for  the  world  at  large,  —  France,  I 
repeat,  should  depart  from  established  usages  and  do  honor  to  one 
whose  fame  is  beyond  comparison  with  that  of  others. 

"  The  man  who,  amid  the  decadence  of  modern  ages,  first  dared 
believe  that  he  could  inspire  degenerate  nations  with  courage  to 
rise  to  the  level  of  republican  virtues,  lived  for  all  nations  and  for 
all  centuries ;  and  this  nation,  which  first  saw  in  the  life  and  success 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

for  the  same  event  which  had  caused  the  armies  of 
France  to  \vear  the  customary  badges  of  mourning. 

If  some  " traveller  from  an  antique  land"  had 
observed  these  manifestations,  he  would  have  won 
dered  much  whose  memory  it  was  that  had  called 
them  forth  from  these  two  great  nations,  then 
struggling  fiercely  with  each  other  for  supremacy 
on  land  and  sea.  His  wonder  would  riot  have 
abated  had  he  been  'told  that  the  man  for  whom 
they  mourned  had  wrested  an  empire  from  one,  and 
at  the  time  of  his  death  was  arming  his  countrymen 
against  the  other. 

These  signal  honors  were  paid  by  England  and 
France  to  a  simple  Virginian  gentleman  who  had 
never  left  his  own  country,  and  who  when  he  died 
held  no  other  office  than  the  titular  command  of 
a  provisional  army.  Yet  although  these  marks  of 
respect  from  foreign  nations  were  notable  and 
striking,  they  were  slight  and  formal  in  comparison 
with  the  silence  and  grief  which  fell  upon  the 
people  of  the  United  States  when  they  heard  that 
Washington  was  dead.  He  had  died  in  the  fullness 
of  time,  quietly,  quickly,  and  in  his  own  house,  and 

of  that  illustrious  man  a  foreboding  of  his  destiny,  and  therein 
recognized  a  future  to  be  realized  and  duties  to  be  performed,  has 
every  right  to  class  him  as  a  fellow-citizen.  I  therefore  submit  to 
the  First  Consul  the  following  decree :  — 

"  Bonaparte,  First  Consul  of  the  republic,  decrees  as  follows  :  — 
"  Article  1.  A  statue  is  to  be  erected  to  General  Washington. 
"  Article  2.  This  statue  is  to  be  placed  in  one  of  the  squares  of 
Paris,  to  be  chosen  by  the  minister  of  the  interior,  and  it  shall  be 
his  duty  to  execute  the  present  decree." 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

yet  his  death  called  out  a  display  of  grief  which 
has  rarely  been  equalled  in  history.  The  trappings 
and  suits  of  woe  were  there  of  course,  but  what 
made  this  mourning  memorable  was  that  the  land 
seemed  hushed  with  sadness,  and  that  the  sorrow 
dwelt  among  the  people  and  was  neither  forced  nor 
fleeting.  Men  carried  it  home  with  them  to  their 
firesides  and  to  their  churches,  to  their  offices  and 
their  workshops.  Every  preacher  took  the  life 
which  had  closed  as  the  noblest  of  texts,  and  every 
orator  made  it  the  theme  of  his  loftiest  eloquence. 
For  more  than  a  year  the  newspapers  teemed  with 
eulogy  and  elegy,  and  both  prose  and  poetry  were 
severely  taxed  to  pay  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the 
great  one  who  had  gone.  The  prose  was  often 
stilted  and  the  verse  was  generally  bad,  but  yet 
through  it  all,  from  the  polished  sentences  of  the 
funeral  oration  to  the  humble  effusions  of  the  ob 
scurest  poet's  corner,  there  ran  a  strong  and  gen 
uine  feeling,  which  the  highest  art  could  not  refine 
nor  the  clumsiest  fine-writing  degrade. 

From  that  time  to  this,  the  stream  of  praise  has 

.  flowed  on,  ever  deepening  and  strengthening,  both 

\  at  home  and  abroad.     Washington  alone  in  history 

j seems  to  have  risen  so  high  in  the  estimation  of  men 

jthat  criticism  has  shrunk  away  abashed,  and  has 

tonly  been  heard  whispering  in  corners  or  growling 

noarsely  in  the  now  famous  house  in  Cheyne  Row. 

There  is  a  world  of  meaning  in  all  this,  could 

we  but  rightly  interpret  it.     It  cannot  be  brushed 

aside  as  mere  popular  superstition,  formed  of  fan- 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

cies  and  prejudices,  to  which  intelligent  opposition 
would  be  useless.  Nothing  is  in  fact  more  false 
than  the  way  in  which  popular  opinions  are  often 
belittled  and  made  light  of.  The  opinion  of  the 
world,  however  reached,  becomes  in  the  course  of 
years  or  centuries  the  nearest  approach  we  can 
make  to  final  judgment  on  things  human.  Don 
Quixote  may  be  dumb  to  one  man,  and  the  sonnets 
of  Shakespeare  may  leave  another  cold  and  weary. 
But  the  fault  is  in  the  reader.  There  is  no  doubt  of 
the  greatness  of  Cervantes  or  Shakespeare,  for  they 
have  stood  the  test  of  time,  and  the  voices  of  gener 
ations  of  men,  from  which  there  is  no  appeal,  have 
declared  them  to  be  great.  The  lyrics  that  all  the 
world  loves  and  repeats,  the  poetry  which  is  often 
called  hackneyed,  is  on  the  whole  the  best  poetry. 
The  pictures  and  statues  that  have  drawn  crowds  of 
admiring  gazers  for  centuries  are  the  best.  The 
things  that  are  "caviare  to  the  general"  often  un 
doubtedly  have  much  merit,  but  they  lack  quite  as 
often  the  warm,  generous,  and  immortal  vitality 
which  appeals  alike  to  rich  and  poor,  to  the  igno 
rant  and  to  the  learned. 

So  it  is  with  men.  When  years  after  his  death 
the  world  agrees  to  call  a  man  great,  the  verdict 
must  be  accepted.  The  historian  may  whiten  or 
blacken,  the  critic  may  weigh  and  dissect,  the  form 
of  the  judgment  may  be  altered,  but  the  central  fact 
remains,  and  with  the  man,  whom  the  world  in  its 
vague  way  has  pronounced  great,  history  must  reckon 
one  way  or  the  other,  whether  for  good  or  ill. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

When  we  come  to  such  a  man  as  Washington, 
the  case  is  still  stronger.  Men  seem  to  have  agreed 
that  here  was  greatness  which  no  one  could  ques 
tion,  and  character  which  no  one  could  fail  to  re 
spect.  Around  other  leaders  of  men,  even  around 
the  greatest  of  them,  sharp  controversies  have 
arisen,  and  they  have  their  partisans  dead  as  they 
had  them  living.  Washington  had  enemies  who  as 
sailed  him,  and  friends  whom  he  loved,  but  in  death 
as  in  life  he  seems  to  stand  alone,  above  conflict  and 
superior  to  malice.  In  his  own  country  there  is  no 
dispute  as  to  his  greatness  or  his  worth.  English 
men,  the  most  unsparing  censors  of  everything 
American,  have  paid  homage  to  Washington,  from 
the  days  of  Fox  and  Byron  to  those  of  Tenny 
son  and  Gladstone.  In  France  his  name  has  al 
ways  been  revered,  and  in  distant  lands  those  who 
have  scarcely  heard  of  the  existence  of  the  United 
States  know  the  country  of  Washington.  To  the 
mighty  cairn  which  the  nation  and  the  states  have 
raised  to  his  memory,  stones  have  come  from 
Greece,  sending  a  fragment  of  the  Parthenon  ;  from 
Brazil  and  Switzerland,  Turkey  and  Japan,  Siam 
and  India  beyond  the  Ganges.  On  that  sent  by 
China  we  read :  "  In  devising  plans,  Washing 
ton  was  more  decided  than  Ching  Shing  or  Woo 
Kwang  ;  in  winning  a  country  he  was  braver  than 
Tsau  Tsau  or  Ling  Pi.  Wielding  his  four-footed 
falchion,  he  extended  the  frontiers  and  refused  to 
accept  the  Koyal  Dignity.  The  sentiments  of  the 
Three  Dynasties  have  reappeared  in  him.  Can  any 


INTRODUCTION.  1 

man  of  ancient  or  modern  times  fail  to  pronounce 
Washington  peerless  ?  "  These  comparisons  so 
strange  to  our  ears  tell  of  a  fame  which  has  reached 
farther  than  we  can  readily  conceive. 

Washington  stands  as  a  type,  and  has  stamped 
himself  deep  upon  the  imagination  of  mankind. 
Whether  the  image  be  true  or.  false  is  of  no  conse 
quence  :  the  fact  endures.  He  rises  up  from  the 
dust  of  history  as  a  Greek  statue  comes  pure  and 
serene  from  the  earth  in  which  it  has  lain  for  cen 
turies.  We  know  his  deeds  ;  but  what  was  it  in  the 
man  which  has  given  him  such  a  place  in  the  affec 
tion,  the  respect,  and  the  imagination  of  his  fellow- 
men  throughout  the  world  ? 

Perhaps  this  question  has  been  fully  answered 
already.  Possibly  every  one  who  has  thought  upon 
the  subject  has  solved  the  problem,  so  that  even  to 
state  it  is  superfluous.  Yet  a  brilliant  writer,  the 
latest  historian  of  the  American  people,  has  said  : 
"  General  Washington  is  known  to  us,  and  Presi 
dent  Washington.  But  George  Washington  is  an 
unknown  man."  These  are  pregnant  words,  and 
that  they  should  be  true  seems  to  make  any  attempt 
to  fill  the  great  gap  an  act  of  sheer  and  hopeless 
audacity.  Yet  there  can  be  certainly  no  reason 
for  adding  another  to  the  almost  countless  lives 
of  Washington  unless  it  be  done  with  the  object 
in  view  which  Mr.  McMaster  indicates.  Any  such 
attempt  may  fail  in  execution,  but  if  the  purpose 
be  right  it  has  at  least  an  excuse  for  its  existence. 

To  try  to  add  to  the  existing  knowledge  of  the 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

facts  in  Washington's  career  would  have  but  little 
result  beyond  the  multiplication  of  printed  pages. 
The  antiquarian,  the  historian,  and  the  critic  have 
exhausted  every  source,  and  the  most  minute  de 
tails  have  been  and  still  are  the  subject  of  endless 
writing  and  constant  discussion.  Every  house  he 
ever  lived  in  has  been  drawn  and  painted  ;  every 
portrait,  and  statue,  and  medal  has  been  catalogued 
and  engraved.  His  private  affairs,  his  servants, 
his  horses,  his  arms,  even  his  clothes,  have  all 
passed  beneath  the  merciless  microscope  of  history. 
His  biography  has  been  written  and  rewritten. 
His  letters  have  been  drawn  out  from  every  lurk 
ing  place,  and  have  been  given  to  the  world  in 
masses  and  in  detachments.  His  battles  have  been 
fought  over  and  over  again,  and  his  state  papers 
have  undergone  an  almost  verbal  examination.  Yet, 
despite  his  vast  fame  and  all  the  labors  of  the  an 
tiquarian  and  biographer,  Washington  is  still  not 
understood,  —  as  a  man  he  is  unfamiliar  to  the  pos 
terity  that  reverences  his  memory.  He  has  been  mis 
represented  more  or  less  covertly  by  hostile  critics 
and  by  candid  friends,  and  has  been  disguised  and 
hidden  away  by  the  mistaken  eulogy  and  erroneous 
theories  of  devout  admirers.  All  that  any  one  now 
can  do,  therefore,  is  to  endeavor  from  this  mass  of 
material  to  depict  the  very  man  himself  in  the  vari 
ous  conjunctures  of  his  life,  and  strive  to  see  what 
he  really  was  and  what  he  meant  then,  and  wThat 
he  is  and  what  he  means  to  us  and  to  the  world 
to-day. 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

In  the  progress  of  time  Washington  has  become 
in  the  popular  imagination  largely  mythical;  for 
mythical  ideas  grow  up  in  this  nineteenth  century, 
notwithstanding  its  boasted  intelligence,  much  as 
they  did  in  the  infancy  of  the  race.  The  old  senti 
ment  of  humanity,  more  ancient  and  more  lasting 
than  any  records  or  monuments,  which  led  men  in 
the  dawn  of  history  to  worship  their  ancestors  and 
the  founders  of  states,  still  endures.  As  the  centuries 
have  gone  by,  this  sentiment  has  lost  its  religious 
flavor,  and  has  become  more  and  more  restricted 
in  its  application,  but  it  has  never  been  wholly  ex 
tinguished.  Let  some  man  arise  great  above  the 
ordinary  bounds  of  greatness,  and  the  feeling  which 
caused  our  progenitors  to  bow  down  at  the  shrines 
of  their  forefathers  and  chiefs  leads  us  to  invest 
our  modern  hero  with  a  mythical  character,  and 
picture  him  in  our  imagination  as  a  being  to  whom, 
a  few  thousand  years  ago,  altars  would  have  been 
builded  and  libations  poured  out. 

Thus  we  have  to-day  in  our  minds  a  Washington 
grand,  solemn,  and  impressive.  In  this  guise  he 
appears  as  a  man  of  lofty  intellect,  vast  moral  force, 
supremely  successful  and  fortunate,  and  wholly 
apart  from  and  above  all  his  fellow-men.  This 
lonely  figure  rises  up  to  our  imagination  with  all 
the  imperial  splendor  of  the  Livian  Augustus,  and 
with  about  as  much  warmth  and  life  as  that  un 
rivalled  statue.  In  this  vague  but  quite  serious  idea 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth,  but  not  the  whole  truth. 
It  is  the  myth  of  genuine  love  and  veneration 


10  INTRO  DUG  TION. 

springing  from  the  inborn  gratitude  of  man  to  the 
founders  and  chiefs  of  his  race,  but  it  is  not  by  any 
means  the  only  one  of  its  family.  There  is  another, 
equally  diffused,  of  wholly  different  parentage.  In 
its  inception  this  second  myth  is  due  to  the  itin 
erant  parson,  bookmaker,  and  bookseller,  Mason 
Weems.  He  wrote  a  brief  biography  of  Washing 
ton,  of  trifling  historical  value,  yet  with  sufficient 
literary  skill  to  make  it  widely  popular.  It  neither 
appealed  to  nor  was  read  by  the  cultivated  and  in 
structed  few,  but  it  reached  the  homes  of  the  masses 
of  the  people.  It  found  its  way  to  the  bench  of  the 
mechanic,  to  the  house  of  the  farmer,  to  the  log 
cabins  of  the  frontiersman  and  pioneer.  It  was 
carried  across  the  continent  on  the  first  waves  of 
advancing  settlement.  Its  anecdotes  and  its  sim 
plicity  of  thought  commended  it  to  children  both 
at  home  and  at  school,  and,  passing  through  edition 
after  edition,  its  statements  were  widely  spread, 
and  it  colored  insensibly  the  ideas  of  hundreds  of 
persons  who  never  had  heard  even  the  name  of  the 
author.  To  Weems  we  owe  the  anecdote  of  the 
cherry-tree,  and  other  tales  of  a  similar  nature. 
He  wrote  with  Dr.  Beattie's  life  of  his  son  before 
him  as  a  model,  and  the  result  is  that  Washington 
comes  out  in  his  pages  a  faultless  prig.  Whether 
Weems  intended  it  or  not,  that  is  the  result  which 
he  produced,  and  that  is  the  Washington  who  was 
developed  from  the  wide  sale  of  his  book.  When 
this  idea  took  definite  and  permanent  shape  it 
caused  a  reaction.  There  was  a  revolt  against  it, 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

for  the  hero  thus  engendered  had  qualities  which 
the  national  sense  of  humor  could  not  endure  in 
silence.  The  consequence  is,  that  the  Washington 
of  Weems  has  afforded  an  endless  theme  for  joke 
and  burlesque.  Every  professional  American  hu 
morist  almost  has  tried  his  hand  at  it ;  and  with 
each  recurring  22d  of  February  the  hard-worked 
jesters  of  the  daily  newspapers  take  it  up  and 
make  a  little  fun  out  of  it,  sufficient  for  the  day 
that  is  passing  over  them.  The  opportunity  is 
tempting,  because  of  the  ease  with  which  fun  can 
be  made  when  that  fundamental  source  of  humor,  a 
violent  contrast,  can  be  employed.  But  there  is  no 
irreverence  in  it  all,  for  the  jest  is  not  aimed  at 
the  real  Washington,  but  at  the  Washington  por 
trayed  in  the  Weems  biography.  The  worthy  "  rec 
tor  of  Mount  Vernon,"  as  he  called  himself,  meant 
no  harm,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  truth,  no  doubt, 
in  his  book.  But  the  blameless  and  priggish  boy, 
and  the  equally  faultless  and  uninteresting  man, 
whom  he  originated,  have  become  in  the  process  of 
development  a  myth.  So  in  its  further  develop 
ment  is  the  Washington  of  the  humorist  a  myth. 
Both  alike  are  utterly  and  crudely  false.  They  re 
semble  their  great  original  as  much  as  Greenough's 
classically  nude  statue,  exposed  to  the  incongruities 
of  the  North  American  climate,  resembles  in  dress 
and  appearance  the  general  of  our  armies  and  the 
first  President  of  the  United  States. 

Such  are  the  myth-makers.     They  are  widely  dif 
ferent  from  the  critics  who  have  assailed  Washing- 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

ton  in  a  sidelong  way,  and  who  can  be  better  dealt 
with  in  a  later  chapter.  These  last  bring  charges 
which  can  be  met :  the  myth-maker  presents  a  vague 
conception,  extremely  difficult  to  handle  because  it 
is  so  elusive. 

One  of  our  well-known  historical  scholars  and 
most  learned  antiquarians,  not  long  ago,  in  an  essay 
vindicating  the  "  traditional  Washington,"  treated 
with  scorn  the  idea  of  a  "  new  Washington  "  being 
discovered.  In  one  sense  this  is  quite  right,  in 
another  totally  wrong.  There  can  be  no  new  Wash- 
Jngton  discovered,  because  there  never  was  but  one. 
But  the  real  man  has  been  so  overlaid  with  myths 
and  traditions,  and  so  distorted  by  misleading  criti 
cisms,  that,  as  has  already  been  suggested,  he  has 
been  wellnigh  lost.  We  have  the  religious  or 
statuesque  myth,  we  have  the  Weems  myth,  and 
the  ludicrous  myth  of  the  writer  of  paragraphs. 
We  have  the  stately  hero  of  Sparks,  and  Everett, 
and  Marshall,  and  Irving,  with  all  his  great  deeds 
as  general  and  president  duly  recorded  and  set 
down  in  polished  and  eloquent  sentences ;  and  we 
know  him  to  be  very  great  and  wise  and  pure,  and, 
be  it  said  with  bated  breath,  very  dry  and  cold. 
We  are  also  familiar  with  the  commonplace  man 
who  so  wonderfully  illustrated  the  power  of  char 
acter  as  set  forth  by  various  persons,  either  from 
love  of  novelty  or  because  the  great  chief  seemed 
to  get  in  the  way  of  their  own  heroes. 

If  this  is  all,  then  the  career  of  Washington  and 
his  towering  fame  present  a  problem  of  which  the 


Xs  0'  \\ 

[JPNIVERSITYJ] 

world  has  never  seen  the  like,  But  this  cannot  be 
all:  there  must.be  more  behind.  Every  one  knows 
the  famous  Stuart  portrait  of  Washington.  The 
last  effort  of  the  artist's  cunning  is  there  employed 
to  paint  his  great  subject  for  posterity.  How  serene 
and  beautiful  it  is !  It  is  a  noble  picture  for  future 
ages  to  look  upon.  Still  it  is  not  all.  There  is  in 
the  dining-room  of  Memorial  Hall  at  Cambridge 
another  portrait,  painted  by  Savage.  It  is  cold  and 
dry,  hard  enough  to  serve  for  the  signboard  of  an 
inn,  and  able,  one  would  think,  to  withstand  all 
weathers.  Yet  this  picture  has  something  which 
Stuart  left  out.  There  is  a  rugged  strength  in  the 
face  which  gives  us  pause,  there  is  a  massiveness  in 
the  jaw,  telling  of  an  iron  grip  and  a  relentless 
will,  which  has  infinite  meaning. 

"  Here  's  John  the  Smith's  rough-hammered  head.     Great  eye, 
Gross  jaw,  and  griped  lips  do  what  granite  can 
To  give  you  the  crown-grasper.     What  a  man  !  " 

In  death  as  in  life,  there  is  something  about 
Washington,  call  it  greatness,  dignity,  majesty, 
what  you  will,  which  seems  to  hold  men  aloof  and 
keep  them  from  knowing  him.  In  truth  he  was 
a  most  difficult  man  to  know.  Carlyle,  crying  out 
through  hundreds  of  pages  and  myriads  of  words 
for  the  "  silent  man,"  passed  by  with  a  sneer  the 
most  absolutely  silent  great  man  that  history  can 
show.  Washington's  letters  and  speeches  and  mes 
sages  fill  many  volumes,  but  they  are  all  on  busi 
ness.  They  are  profoundly  silent  as  to  the  writer 
himself.  From  this  Carlyle  concluded  apparently 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

that  there  was  nothing  to  tell,  —  a  very  shallow  con 
clusion  if  it  was  the  one  he  really  reached.  Such 
an  idea  was  certainly  far,  very  far,  from  the  truth. 
Behind  the  popular  myths,  behind  the  statuesque 
figure  of  the  orator  and  the  preacher,  behind  the 
general  and  the  president  of  the  historian,  there 
was  a  strong,  vigorous  man,  in  whose  veins  ran 
warm,  red  blood,  in  whose  heart  were  stormy  pas 
sions  and  deep  sympathy  for  humanity,  in  whose 
brain  were  far-reaching  thoughts,  and  who  was  in 
formed  throughout  his  being  with  a  resistless  will. 
The  veil  of  his  silence  is  not  often  lifted,  and  never 
intentionally,  but  now  and  then  there  is  a  glimpse 
behind  it ;  and  in  stray  sentences  and  in  little  inci 
dents  strenuously  gathered  together ;  above  all,  in 
the  right  interpretation  of  the  words,  and  the  deeds, 
and  the  true  history  known  to  all  men,  —  we  can 
surely  find  George  Washington  "  the  noblest  figure 
that  ever  stood  in  the  forefront  of  a  nation's  life." 


GEOEGE  WASHINGTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  OLD  DOMINION. 

To  know  George  Washington,  we  must  first  of 
all  know  the  societ}*'  in  which  he  was  born  and 
brought  up.  As  certain  lilies  draw  their  colors 
from  the  subtle  qualities  of  the  soil  hidden  beneath 
the  water  upon  which  they  float,  so  are  men  pro 
foundly  affected  by  the  obscure  and  insensible  in 
fluences  which  surround  their  childhood  and  youth. 
The  art  of  the  chemist  may  discover  perhaps  the 
secret  agent  which  tints  the  white  flower  with  blue 
or  pink,  but  very  often  the  elements,  which  analysis 
detects,  nature  alone  can  combine.  The  analogy 
is  not  strained  or  fanciful  when  we  apply  it  to  a 
past  society.  We  can  separate,  and  classify,  and 
label  the  various  elements,  but  to  combine  them  in 
such  a  way  as  to  form  a  vivid  picture  is  a  work  of 
surpassing  difficulty.  This  is  especially  true  of 
such  a  land  as  Virginia  in  the  middle  of  the  last 
century.  Virginian  society,  as  it  existed  at  that 
period,  is  utterly  extinct.  John  Randolph  said  it 
had  departed  before  the  year  1800.  Since  then 


16  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

another  century,  with  all  its  manifold  changes,  has 
welliiigh  come  and  gone.  Most  important  of  all, 
the  last  surviving  institution  of  colonial  Virginia 
has  been  swept  away  in  the  crash  of  civil  war, 
which  has  opened  a  gulf  between  past  and  present 
wider  and  deeper  than  any  that  time  alone  could 
make. 

Life  and  society  as  they  existed  in  the  Virginia 
of  the  eighteenth  century  seem,  moreover,  to  have 
been  sharply  broken  and  ended.  We  cannot  trace 
our  steps  backward,  as  is  possible  in  most  cases,  over 
the  road  by  which  the  world  has  travelled  since 
those  days.  We  are  compelled  to  take  a  long  leap 
mentally  in  order  to  land  ourselves  securely  in  the 
Virginia  which  honored  the  second  George,  and 
looked  up  to  Walpole  and  Pitt  as  the  arbiters  of 
its  fate. 

We  live  in  a  period  of  great  cities,  rapid  com 
munication,  vast  and  varied  business  interests, 
enormous  diversity  of  occupation,  great  industries, 
diffused  intelligence,  farming  by  steam,  and  with 
everything  and  everybody  pervaded  by  an  unrest 
ing,  high-strung  activity.  We  transport  ourselves 
to  the  Virginia  of  Washington's  boyhood,  and  find 
a  people  without  cities  or  towns,  with  no  means  of 
communication  except  what  was  afforded  by  rivers 
and  wood  roads ;  having  no  trades,  no  industries, 
no  means  of  spreading  knowledge,  only  one  occu 
pation,  clumsily  performed ;  and  living  a  quiet, 
monotonous  existence,  which  can  now  hardly  be 
realized.  It  is  "  a  far  cry  to  Loch- Awe,"  as  the 


THE  OLD  DOMINION.  17 

Scotch  proverb  has  it;  and  this  old  Virginian  soci 
ety,  although  we  should  find  it  sorry  work  living  in 
it,  is  both  pleasant  and  picturesque  in  the  pages  of 
history. 

The  population  of  Virginia,  advancing  toward 
half  a  million,  and  divided  pretty  equally  between 
the  free  whites  and  the  enslaved  blacks,  was  densest, 
to  use  a  most  inappropriate  word,  at  the  water's 
edge  and  near  the  mouths  of  the  rivers.  Thence 
it  crept  backwards,  following  always  the  lines  of 
the  watercourses,  and  growing  ever  thinner  and 
more  scattered  until  it  reached  the  Blue  Ridge. 
Behind  the  mountains  was  the  wilderness,  haunted, 
as  old  John  Lederer  said  a  century  earlier,  by  mon 
sters,  and  inhabited,  as  the  eighteenth-century  Vir 
ginians  very  well  knew,  by  savages  and  wild  beasts, 
much  more  real  and  dangerous  than  the  hobgob 
lins  of  their  ancestors. 

The  population,  in  proportion  to  its  numbers,  was 
very  widely  distributed.  It  was  not  collected  in 
groups,  after  the  fashion  with  which  we  are  now 
familiar,  for  then  there  were  no  cities  or  towns  in 
Virginia.  The  only  place  which  could  pretend  to 
either  name  was  Norfolk,  the  solitary  seaport, 
which,  with  its  six  or  seven  thousand  inhabitants, 
formed  the  most  glaring  exception  that  any  rule 
solicitous  of  proof  could  possibly  desire.  Wil- 
liamsburg,  the  capital,  was  a  straggling  village, 
somewhat  overweighted  with  the  public  buildings 
and  those  of  the  college.  It  would  light  up  into 
life  and  vivacity  during  the  season  of  politics  and 


18  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

society,  and  then  relapse  again  into  the  country 
stillness.  Outside  of  Williamsbnrg  and  Norfolk 
there  were  various  points  which  passed  in  the  cata 
logue  and  on  the  map  for  towns,  but  which  in  real 
ity  were  merely  the  shadows  of  a  name.  The  most 
populous  consisted  of  a  few  houses  inhabited 
by  storekeepers  and  traders,  some  tobacco  ware 
houses,  and  a  tavern,  clustered  about  the  church  or 
court-house.  Many  others  had  only  the  church,  or, 
if  a  county  seat,  the  church  and  court-house,  keep 
ing  solitary  state  in  the  woods.  There  once  a  week 
the  sound  of  prayer  and  gossip,  or  at  longer  inter 
vals  the  voices  of  lawyers  and  politicians,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  wrestlers  on  the  green,  broke  through 
the  stillness  which  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun 
resumed  its  sway  in  the  forests. 

There  was  little  chance  here  for  that  friction 
of  mind  with  mind,  or  for  that  quick  interchange 
of  thought  and  sentiment  and  knowledge  which 
are  familiar  to  the  dwellers  in  cities,  and  which 
ihave  driven  forward  more  rapidly  than  all  else 
what  we  call  civilization.  Rare  meetings  for  spe 
cial  objects  with  persons  as  solitary  in  their  lives 
and  as  ill-informed  as  himself,  constituted  to  the 
average  Virginian  the  world  of  society,  and  there 
was  nothing  from  outside  to  supply  the  deficiencies 
at  home.  Once  a  fortnight  a  mail  crawled  down 
from  the  North,  and  once  a  month  another  crept  on 
to  the  South.  (George  Washington  was  four  years 
old  when  the  first  newspaper  was  published  in  the 
colony,  and  he  was  twenty  when  the  first  actors 


THE  OLD  DOMINION.  19 

appeared  at  Williamsburg.  What  was  not  brought 
was  not  sought}  The  Virginians  did  not  go  down 
to  the  sea  in  ships.  They  were  not  a  seafaring- 
race,  and  as  they  had  neither  trade  nor  commerce 
they  were  totally  destitute  of  the  inquiring,  enter 
prising  spirit,  and  of  the  knowledge  brought  by 
those  pursuits  which  involve  travel  and  adventure. 
The  English  tobacco-ships  worked  their  way  up  the 
rivers,  taking  the  great  staple,  and  leaving  their 
varied  goods,  and  their  tardy  news  from  Europe, 
wherever  they  stopped.  This  was  the  sum  of  the 
information  and  intercourse  which  Virginia  got 
from  across  the  sea,  for  travellers  were  practically 
unknown.  Few  came  on  business,  fewer  still  from 
curiosity.  .  Stray  peddlers  from  the  North,  or  trap 
pers  from  beyond  the  mountains  with  their  packs 
of  furs,  chiefly  constituted  what  would  now  be 
called  the  travelling  public.  There  were  in  truth 
no  means  of  travelling  except  on  foot,  on  horse 
back,  or  by  boat  on  the  rivers,  which  formed  the 
best  and  most  expeditious  highways.  Stage-coaches, 
or  other  public  conveyances,  were  unknown.  Over 
some  of  the  roads  the  rich  man,  with  his  six  horses 
and  black  outriders,  might  make  his  way  in  a  lum 
bering  carriage,  but  most  of  the  roads  were  little 
better  than  woodland  paths ;  and  the  rivers,  inno 
cent  of  bridges,  offered  in  the  uncertain  fords 
abundance  of  inconvenience,  not  unmixed  with 
peril.  The  taverns  were  execrable,  and  only  the 
ever-ready  hospitality  of  the  people  made  it  pos 
sible  to  get  from  place  to  place.  The  result  was 


20  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

that  the  Virginians  stayed  at  home,  and  sought 
and  welcomed  the  rare  stranger  at  their  gates  as  if 
they  were  well  aware  that  they  were  entertaining 
angels. 

"It  is  not  difficult  to  sift  this  home-keeping  peo 
ple,  and  find  out  that  portion  which  was  Virginia, 
for  the  mass  was  but  an  appendage  of  the  small 
fraction  which  ruled,  led,  and  did  the  thinking 
for  the  whole  community.  Half  the  people  were 
slaves,  and  in  that  single  wretched  word  their  his 
tory  is  told.  They  were,  on  the  whole,  well  and 
kindly  treated,  but  they  have  no  meaning  in  history 
except  as  an  institution,  and  as  an  influence  in  the 
lives,  feelings,  and  character  of  the  men  who  made 
the  state. 

Above  the  slaves,  little  better  than  they,  but  sep 
arated  from  them  by  the  wide  gulf  of  race  and 
color,  were  the  indented  white  servants,  some  con 
victs,  some  redemptioners.  They,  too,  have  their 
story  told  when  we  have  catalogued  them.  We 
cross  another  gulf  and  come  to  the  farmers,  to  the 
men  who  grew  wheat  as  well  as  tobacco  on  their 
own  land,  sometimes  working  alone,  sometimes  the 
owners  of  a  few  slaves.  Some  of  these  men  were 
of  the  class  well  known  since  as  the  "  poor  whites  " 
of  the  South,  the  weaker  brothers  who  could  not 
resist  the  poison  of  slavery,  but  sank  under  it  into 
ignorance  and  poverty.  They  were  contented  be 
cause  their  skins  were  white,  and  because  they  were 
thereby  part  of  an  aristocracy  to  whom  labor  was 
a  badge  of  serfdom.  The  larger  portion  of  this 


THE   OLD  DOMINION.  21 

middle  class,  however,  were  thrifty  and  industrious 
enough.  Including  as  they  did  in  their  ranks  the 
hunters  and  pioneers,  the  traders  and  merchants, 
all  the  freemen  in  fact  who  toiled  and  worked,  they 
formed  the  mass  of  the  white  population,  and  fur 
nished  the  bone  and  sinew  and  some  of  the  intel 
lectual  power  of  Virginia.  The  only  professional 
men  were  the  clergy,  for  the  lawyers  were  few,  and 
growing  to  importance  only  as  the  Revolution  be 
gan  ;  while  the  physicians  were  still  fewer,  and  as 
a  class  of  no  importance  at  all.  The  clergy  were 
a  picturesque  element  in  the  social  landscape,  but 
they  were  as  a  body  very  poor  representatives  of 
learning,  religion,  and  morality.  They  ranged  from 
hedge  parsons  and  Fleet  chaplains,  who  had  slunk 
away  from  England  to  find  a  desirable  obscurity  in 
the  new  world,  to  divines  of  real  learning  and  gen 
uine  piety,  who  were  the  supporters  of  the  college, 
and  who  would  have  been  a  credit  to  any  society. 
These  last,  however,  were  lamentably  few  in  num 
ber.  The  mass  of  the  clergy  were  men  who  worked 
their  own  lands,  sold  tobacco,  were  the  boon  com 
panions  of  the  planters,  hunted,  shot,  drank  hard, 
and  lived  well,  performing  their  sacred  duties  in  a 
perfunctory  and  not  always  in  a  decent  manner. 

The  clergy,  however,  formed  the  stepping-stone 
socially  between  the  farmers,  traders,  and  small 
planters,  and  the  highest  and  most  important  class 
in  Virginian  society.  The  great  planters  were  the 
men  who  owned,  ruled,  and  guided  Virginia.  Their 
vast  estates  were  scattered  along  the  rivers  from 


22  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  seacoast  to  the  mountains.  Each  plantation 
was  in  itself  a  small  village,  with  the  owner's 
house  in  the  centre,  surrounded  by  outbuilding's  and 
negro  cabins,  and  the  pastures,  meadows,  and  fields 
of  tobacco  stretching  away  on  all  sides.  The  rare 
traveller,  pursuing  his  devious  way  on  horseback  or 
in  a  boat,  would  catch  sight  of  these  noble  estates 
opening  up  from  the  road  or  the  river,  and  then  the 
forest  would  close  in  around  him  for  several  miles, 
until  through  the  thinning  trees  he  would  see  again 
the  white  cabins  and  the  cleared  fields  of  the  next 
plantation. 

In  such  places  dwelt  the  Virginian  planters,  sur 
rounded  by  their  families  and  slaves,  and  in  a  soli 
tude  broken  only  by  the  infrequent  and  eagerly 
welcomed  stranger,  by  their  duties  as  vestrymen 
and  magistrates,  or  by  the  annual  pilgrimage  to 
Williamsburg  in  search  of  society,  or  to  sit  in  the 
House  of  Burgesses.  They  were  occupied  by  the 
care  of  their  plantations,  which  involved  a  good  deal 
of  riding  in  the  open  air,  but  which  was  at  best  an 
easy  and  indolent  pursuit  made  light  by  slave  labor 
and  trained  overseers.  As  a  result  the  planters  had 
an  abundance  of  spare  time,  which  they  devoted  to 
cock-fighting,  horse-racing,  fishing,  shooting,  and 
fox-hunting,  —  all,  save  the  first,  wholesome  and 
manly  sports,  but  which  did  not  demand  any  undue 
mental  strain.  There  is,  indeed,  no  indication 
that  the  Virginians  had  any  great  love  for  intellect 
ual  exertion.  When  the  amiable  attorney-general 
of  Charles  II.  said  to  the  Virginian  commission- 


THE  OLD  DOMINION.  28 

ers,  pleading  the  cause  of  learning  and  religion, 
"  Damn  your  souls  !  grow  tobacco  !  "  he  uttered  a 
precept  which  the  mass  of  the  planters  seem  to 
have  laid  to  heart.  For  fifty  years  there  were  no  \ 
schools,  and  down  to  the  Ke volution  even  the  apol-  / 
ogies  bearing  that  honored  name  were  few,  and  the 
college  was  small  and  struggling.  In  some  of  the 
great  families,  the  eldest  sons  would  be  sent  to  Eng 
land  and  to  the  great  universities  :  they  would  make 
the  grand  tour,  play  a  part  in  the  fashionable  soci 
ety  of  London,  and  come  back  to  their  plantations 
fine  gentlemen  and  scholars.  Such  was  Colonel 
Byrd,  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
a  friend  of  the  Earl  of  Orrery,  and  the  author  of 
certain  amusing  memoirs.  Such  at  a  later  day  was 
Arthur  Lee,  doctor  and  diplomat,  student  and  poli 
tician.  But  most  of  these  young  gentlemen  thus 
sent  abroad  to  improve  their  minds  and  manners 
led  a  life  not  materially  different  from  that  of  our 
charming  friend,  Harry  Warrington,  after  his  arri 
val  in  England. 

The  sons  who  stayed  at  home  sometimes  gathered 
a  little  learning  from  the  clergyman  of  the  parish, 
or  received  a  fair  education  at  the  College  of  Wil 
liam  and  Mary,  but  very  many  did  not  have  even 
so  much  as  this.  There  was  not  in  truth  much  use 
for  learning  in  managing  a  plantation  or  raising 
horses,  and  men  get  along  surprisingly  well  without 
what  they  do  not  need,  especially  if  the  acquisition 
demands  labor.  The  Virginian  planter  thought 
little  and  read  less,  and  there  were  no  learned  pro- 


24  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

fessions  to  hold  out  golden  prizes  and  stimulate 
the  love  of  knowledge.  The  women  fared  even 
worse,  for  they  could  not  go  to  Europe  or  to  Wil 
liam  and  Mary's,  so  that  after  exhausting  the  teach 
ing  capacity  of  the  parson  they  settled  down  to  a 
round  of  household  duties  and  to  the  cares  of  a 
multitude  of  slaves,  working  much  harder  and 
more  steadily  than  their  lords  and  masters  ever 
thought  of  doing. 

The  only  general  form  of  intellectual  exertion 
was  that  of  governing.  The  planters  managed  local 
affairs  through  the  vestries,  and  ruled  Virginia  in 
the  House  of  Burgesses.  To  this  work  they  paid 
strict  attention,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  their  race, 
did  it  very  well  and  very  efficiently.  They  were  an 
extremely  competent  body  whenever  they  made  up 
their  minds  to  do  anything ;  but  they  liked  the  life 
and  habits  of  Squire  Western,  and  saw  no  reason 
for  adopting  any  others  until  it  was  necessary. 

There  were,  of  course,  vast  differences  in  the 
condition  of  the  planters.  Some  counted  their 
acres  by  thousands  and  their  slaves  by  hundreds, 
while  others  scrambled  along  as  best  they  might 
with  one  plantation  and  a  few  score  of  negroes. 
Some  dwelt  in  very  handsome  houses,  picturesque 
and  beautiful,  like  Gunston  Hall  or  Stratford,  or 
in  vast,  tasteless,  and  extravagant  piles  like  Rose- 
well.  Others  were  contented  with  very  modest 
houses,  consisting  of  one  story  with  a  gabled  roof, 
and  flanked  by  two  massive  chimneys.  In  some 
houses  there  was  a  brave  show  of  handsome  plate 


THE  OLD  DOMINION.  25 

and  china,  fine  furniture,  and  London-made  car 
riages,  rich  silks  and  satins,  and  brocaded  dresses. 
In  others  there  was  earthenware  and  pewter,  home 
spun  and  woollen,  and  little  use  for  horses  except  in 
the  plough  or  under  the  saddle. 

But  there  were  certain  qualities  common  to  all 
the  Virginia  planters.  The  luxury  was  imperfect. 
The  splendor  was  sometimes  barbaric.  There  were 
holes  in  the  brocades,  and  the  fresh  air  of  heaven 
would  often  blow  through  a  broken  window  upon 
the  glittering  silver  and  the  costly  china.  It  was 
an  easy-going  aristocracy,  unfinished,  and  frequently 
slovenly  in  its  appointments,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  warmer  climates  and  the  regions  of  slavery. 

Everything  was  plentiful  except  ready  money. 
In  this  rich  and  poor  were  alike.  They  were  all 
ahead  of  their  income,  and  it  seems  as  if,  from  one 
cause  or  another,  from  extravagance  or  improvi 
dence,  from  horses  or  the  gaming-table,  every  Vir 
ginian  family  went  through  bankruptcy  about  once 
in  a  generation. 

When  Harry  Warrington  arrived  in  England, 
all  his  relations  at  Castlewood  regarded  the  hand 
some  young  fellow  as  a  prince,  with  his  acres  and 
his  slaves.  It  was  a  natural  and  pleasing  delusion, 
born  of  the  possession  of  land  and  serfs,  to  which 
the  Virginians  themselves  gave  ready  crede.nce. 
They  forgot  that  the  land  was  so  plentiful  that  it 
was  of  little  value  ;  that  slaves  were  the  most  waste 
ful  form  of  labor ;  and  that  a  failure  of  the  tobacco 
crop,  pledged  before  it  was  gathered,  meant  ruin, 


26  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

although  they  had  been  reminded  more  than  once 
of  this  last  impressive  fact.  They  knew  that  they 
had  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  a  herd  of  people 
to  wait  upon  them  and  cultivate  their  land,  as 
well  as  obliging  London  merchants  always  ready 
to  furnish  every  luxury  in  return  for  the  mortgage 
of  a  crop  or  an  estate.  So  they  gave  themselves 
little  anxiety  as  to  the  future  and  lived  in  the 
present,  very  much  to  their  own  satisfaction. 

To  the  communities  of  trade  and  commerce,  to 
the  mercantile  and  industrial  spirit  of  to-day,  such 
an  existence  and  such  modes  of  life  appear  distress 
ingly  lax  and  unprogressive.  The  sages  of  the 
bank  parlors  and  the  counting-rooms  would  shake 
their  heads  at  such  spendthrifts  as  these,  refuse  to 
discount  their  paper,  and  confidently  predict  that 
by  no  possibility  could  they  come  to  good.  They 
had  their  defects,  no  doubt,  these  planters  and  farm 
ers  of  Virginia.  The  life  they  led  was  strongly 
developed  on  the  animal  side,  and  was  perhaps 
neither  stimulating  nor  elevating.  The  living  was 
the  reverse  of  plain,  and  the  thinking  was  neither 
extremely  high  nor  notably  laborious.  Yet  in 
this  very  particular  there  is  something  rather  rest 
ful  and  pleasant  to  the  eye  wearied  by  the  sight  of 
incessant  movement,  and  to  the  ear  deafened  by  the 
continual  shout  that  nothing  is  good  that  does  not 
change,  and  that  all  change  must  be  good.  We 
should  probably  find  great  discomforts  and  many 
unpleasant  limitations  in  the  life  and  habits  of  a 
hundred  years  ago  on  any  part  of  the  globe,  and  yet 


THE   OLD  DOMINION.  27 

at  a  time  when  it  seems  as  if  rapidity  and  move 
ment  were  the  last  words  and  the  ultimate  ideals  of 
civilization,  it  is  rather  agreeable  to  turn  to  such 
a  community  as  the  eighteenth-century  planters  of 
Virginia.  They  lived  contentedly  on  the  acres  of 
their  fathers,  and  except  at  rare  and  stated  inter 
vals  they  had  no  other  interests  than  those  fur 
nished  by  their  ancestral  domain.  At  the  court 
house  or  the  vestry,  or  at  Williamsburg,  they  met 
their  neighbors  and  talked  very  keenly  about  the 
politics  of  Europe,  or  the  affairs  of  the  colony. 
They  were  little  troubled  about  religion,  but  they 
worshipped  after  the  fashion  of  their  fathers, 
and  had  a  serious  fidelity  to  church  and  king. 
They  wrangled  with  their  governors  over  appropri 
ations,  but  they  lived  on  good  terms  with  those  emi 
nent  persons,  and  attended  state  balls  at  what  they 
called  the  palace,  and  danced  and  made  merry 
with  much  stateliness  and  grace.  Their  every-day 
life  ran  on  in  the  quiet  of  their  plantations  as 
calmly  as  one  of  their  own  rivers.  The  English 
trader  would  come  and  go  ;  the  infrequent  stranger 
would  be  received  and  welcomed ;  Christmas  would 
be  kept  in  hearty  English  fashion;  young  men 
from  a  neighboring  estate  would  ride  over  through 
the  darkening  woods  to  court,  or  dance,  or  play  the 
fiddle,  like  Patrick  Henry  or  Thomas  Jefferson; 
and  these  simple  events  were  all  that  made  a  ripple 
on  the  placid  stream.  Much  time  was  given  to 
sports,  rough,  hearty,  manly  sports,  with  a  spice  of 
danger,  and  these,  with  an  occasional  adventurous 


28  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

dash  into  the  wilderness,  kept  them  sound  and 
strong  and  brave,  both  in  body  and  mind.  There 
was  nothing  languid  or  effeminate  about  the  Vir 
ginian  planter.  He  was  a  robust  man,  quite  ready 
to  fight  or  work  when  the  time  came,  and  well  fitted 
to  deal  with  affairs  when  he  was  needed.  He  was 
a  free-handed,  hospitable,  generous  being,  not  much 
given  to  study  or  thought,  but  thoroughly  public- 
spirited  and  keenly  alive  to  the  interests  of  Vir 
ginia.  Above  all  things  he  was  an  aristocrat,  set 
apart  by  the  dark  line  of  race,  color,  and  heredi 
tary  servitude,  as  proud  as  the  proudest  Austrian 
with  his  endless  quarterings,  as  sturdy  and  vigor 
ous  as  an  English  yeoman,  and  as  jealous  of  his 
rights  and  privileges  as  any  baron  who  stood  by 
John  at  Runnymede.  To  this  aristocracy,  careless 
and  indolent,  given  to  rough  pleasures  and  indif 
ferent  to  the  finer  and  higher  sides  of  life,  the  call 
came,  as  it  comes  to  all  men  sooner  or  later,  and  in 
response  they  gave  their  country  soldiers,  states 
men,  and  jurists  of  the  highest  order,  and  fit  for 
the  great  work  they  were  asked  to  do.  We  must 
go  back  to  Athens  to  find  another  instance  of  a  so 
ciety  so  small  in  numbers,  and  yet  capable  of  such 
an  outburst  of  ability  and  force.  They  were  of 
sound  English  stock,  with  a  slight  admixture  of  the 
Huguenot,  the  best  blood  of  France  ;  and  although 
for  a  century  and  a  half  they  had  seemed  to  stag 
nate  in  the  New  World,  they  were  strong  and  fruit 
ful  and  effective  beyond  the  measure  of  ordinary 
races  when  the  hour  of  peril  and  trial  was  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   WASHINGTONS. 

SUCH  was  the  world  and  such  the  community 
which  counted  as  a  small  fraction  the  Washington 
family.  Our  immediate  concern  is  with  that  family, 
for  before  we  approach  the  man  we  must  know  his 
ancestors.  The  greatest  leader  of  scientific  thought 
in  this  century  has  come  to  the  aid  of  the  genealo 
gist,  and  given  to  the  results  of  the  latter's  some 
what  discredited  labors  a  vitality  and  meaning 
which  it  seemed  impossible  that  dry  and  dusty 
pedigrees  and  barren  tables  of  descent  should  ever 
possess.  We  have  always  selected  our  race-horses 
according  to  the  doctrines  of  evolution,  and  we 
now  study  the  character  of  a  great  man  by  examin 
ing  first  the  history  of  his  forefathers. 

Washington  made  so  great  an  impression  upon 
the  world  in  his  lifetime  that  genealogists  at  once 
undertook  for  him  the  construction  of  a  suitable 
pedigree.  The  excellent  Sir  Isaac  Heard,  garter 
king-at-arms,  worked  out  a  genealogy  which  seemed 
reasonable  enough,  and  then  wrote  to  the  president 
in  relation  to  it.  Washington  in  reply  thanked  him 
for  his  politeness,  sent  him  the  Virginian  genealogy 
of  his  own  branch,  and  after  expressing  a  courteous 


30  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

interest  said,  in  his  simple  and  direct  fashion,  that 
he  had  been  a  busy  man  and  had  paid  but  little 
attention  to  the  subject.  His  knowledge  about  his 
English  forefathers  was  in  fact  extremely  slight. 
He  had  heard  merely  that  the  first  of  the  name  in 
Virginia  had  come  from  one  of  the  northern  coun 
ties  of  England,  but  whether  from  Lancashire  or 
Yorkshire,  or  one  still  more  northerly,  he  could  not 
tell.  Sir  Isaac  was  not  thoroughly  satisfied  with 
the  correctness  of  his  own  work,  but  presently 
Baker  took  it  up  in  his  history  of  Northampton 
shire,  and  perfected  it  to  his  own  satisfaction  and 
that  of  the  world  in  general.  This  genealogy  de 
rived  Washington's  descent  from  the  owners  of  the 
manor  of  Sulgrave,  in  Northamptonshire,  and  thence 
carried  it  back  to  the  Norman  knight,  Sir  Wil 
liam  de  Hertburn.  According  to  this  pedigree  the 
Virginian  settlers,  John  and  Lawrence,  were  the 
sons  of  Lawrence  Washington  of  Sulgrave  Manor, 
and  this  genealogy  was  adopted  by  Sparks  and 
Irving,  as  well  as  by  the  public  at  large.  Twenty 
years  ago,  however,  Colonel  Chester,  by  his  re 
searches,  broke  beyond  repair  the  most  essential 
link  in  the  chain  forged  by  Heard  and  Baker, 
proving  clearly  that  the  Virginian  settlers  could 
not  have  been  the  sons  of  Lawrence  of  Sulgrave, 
as  identified  by  the  garter  king-at-arms.  Still 
naore  recently  the  mythical  spirit  has  taken  violent 
possession  of  the  Washington  ancestry,  and  an  in 
genious  gentleman  has  traced  the  pedigree  of  our 
first  president  back  to  Thorfinn  and  thence  to  Odin, 


THE  WASHINGTON'S.  31 

which  is  sufficiently  remote,  dignified,  and  lofty  to 
satisfy  the  most  exacting  Welshman  that  ever  lived. 
Still  the  breach  made  by  Colonel  Chester  has  not 
been  repaired,  although  many  writers,  including 
some  who  should  know  better,  cling  with  undimin- 
ished  faith  to  the  Heard  pedigree.  It  is  known 
that  Colonel  Chester  himself  believed  that  he  had 
found  the  true  line,  coming,  it  is  supposed,  through 
JB  younger  branch  of  the  Sulgrave  race,  but  he  died 
before  he  had  discovered  the  one  bit  of  evidence 
necessary  to  prove  an  essential  step,  and  he  was 
too  conscientiously  accurate  to  leave  anything  to 
conjecture. 

Thus  we  are  left  with  no  certain  knowledge  of 
Washington's  forefathers  beyond  the  Virginian 
settlers,  John  and  Lawrence.  There  can  be,  how 
ever,  little  doubt  that  the  two  emigrants  came  of  \ 
the  Sulgrave  stock,  although  the  exact  connection 
has  not  been  established.  The  identity  of  arms 
and  of  Christian  names  seems  to  prove  them  scions 
of  that  race,  and  the  failure  to  connect  them  with 
any  other  family  of  the  name  in  England  corrobo 
rates  this  theory.1  In  that  interesting  land  where 

3  Colonel  Chester  (N.  E.  Historical  Register,  vol.  xxi.,  18G7, 
p.  25)  lays  stress  on  the  president's  statement  that  his  ancestor 
was  said  to  come  from  Lancashire  or  Yorkshire,  or  some  more 
northerly  county,  and  seems  to  imply  that  this,  excluding-  as  it 
does  Northamptonshire,  makes  against  the  identity  of  Sir  Isaac 
Heard' s  John  Washington  with  the  Virginian  emigrant.  I  have 
found  a  little  evidence  on  this  subject  which  seems  to  have  been 
hitherto  unnoticed,  and  which  tends  to  show  that  the  Virginia 
emigrants  were  not  from  the  northerly  counties.  The  well-known 
account  of  the  Baconian  troubles,  written  by  Mrs.  Ann  Cotton  in 


32  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

everything,  according  to  our  narrow  ideas,  is  upside 
down,  it  is  customary,  when  an  individual  arrives 
at  distinction,  to  confer  nobility  upon  his  ancestors 
instead  of  his  children.  The  Washingtons  offer 
an  interesting  example  of  the  application  of  this 
Chinese  system  in  the  Western  world,  for,  if  they 
have  not  been  actually  ennobled  in  recognition  of 
the  deeds  of  their  great  descendant,  they  have  at 
least  become  the  subjects  of  intense  and  general  in 
terest.  Every  one  of  the  name  who  could  be  dis 
covered  anywhere  has  been  dragged  forth  into  the 
light,  and  has  had  all  that  was  known  about  him 
duly  recorded  and  set  down.  By  scanning  family 
trees  and  pedigrees,  and  picking  up  stray  bits  of 
information  here  and  there,  we  can  learn  in  a  rude 
and  general  fashion  what  manner  of  men  those 
were  who  claimed  descent  from  William  of  Hert- 
burn,  and  who  bore  the  name  of  Washington  in 
the  mother-country.  As  Mr.  Galton  passes  a  hun 
dred  faces  before  the  same  highly  sensitized  plate, 
and  gets  a  photograph  which  is  a  likeness  of  no  one 

1676  (Force's  Hist.  Tracts,  i.),  is  addressed  "to  Mr.  C.  H.,  at 
Yardly,  in  Northamptonshire,"  probably  Yardly-Hastings,  about 
eigh£  miles  from  Northampton,  and  consequently  very  near  Sul- 
grave  Manor.  At  the  beginning  (p.  1)  the  writer  refers  to  the  com 
mander  of  the  Virginians  in  the  first  campaign  against  the  Indians 
as  ' '  one  Colonel  Washington  (him  whom  you  have  sometimes  seen 
at  your  house)."  This  suggests  very  strongly  that  John  Washing 
ton,  the  first  Virginian  of  the  name,  was  of  Northamptonshire, 
and  that  he  came  from,  or  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of,  Sulgrave 
Manor,  and  therefore  belonged  to  that  family.  Had  he  lived  all 
his  life  in  Yorkshire  it  is  not  probable  that  Mr.  C.  H.  would  have 
seen  him  much  at  his  house  in  Yardly. 


THE   WASHINGTONS.  33 

of  his  subjects,  and  yet  resembles  them  all,  so  we 
may  turn  the  camera  of  history  upon  these  Wash- 
ingtons,  as  they  flash  up  for  a  moment  from  the 
dim  past,  and  hope  to  get  what  Professor  Huxley 
calls  a  "  generic  "  picture  of  the  race,  even  if  the 
outlines  be  somewhat  blurred  and  indistinct. 

In  the  North  of  England,  in  the  region  conquered 
first  by  Saxons  and  then  by  Danes,  lies  the  little 
village  of  Washington.  It  came  into  the  possession 
of  Sir  William  de  Hertburn,  and  belonged  to  him 
at  the  time  of  the  Bolden  Book  in  1183.  Soon 
after,  he  or  his  descendants  took  the  name  of  De 
Wessyngton,  and  there  they  remained  for  two 
centuries,  knights  of  the  palatinate,  holding  their 
lands  by  a  military  tenure,  fighting  in  all  the  wars, 
and  taking  part  in  tournaments  with  becoming 
splendor.  By  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  cen 
tury  the  line  of  feudal  knights  of  the  palatinate 
was  extinct,  and  the  manor  passed  from  the  family 
by  the  marriage  of  Dionisia  de  Wessyngton.  But 
the  main  stock  had  in  the  mean  time  thrown  out 
many  offshoots,  which  had  taken  firm  root  in  other 
parts  of  England.  We  hear  of  several  who  came 
in  various  ways  to  eminence.  There  was  the  learned 
and  vigorous  prior  of  Durham,  John  De  Wessyng 
ton,  probably  one  of  the  original  family,  and  the 
name  appears  in  various  places  after  his  time  in 
records  and  on  monuments,  indicating  a  flourishing 

O  O 

and  increasing  race.  Lawrence  Washington,  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  was  the  mayor  of  Northampton, 
and  received  from  King  Henry  VIII.  the  manor  of 


34  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Sulgrave  in  1538.  In  the  next  century  we  find 
traces  of  Robert  Washington  of  the  Adwick  family, 
a  rich  merchant  of  Leeds,  and  of  his  son  Joseph 
Washington,  a  learned  lawyer  and  author,  of  Gray's 
Inn.  About  the  same  time  we  hear  of  Richard 
Washington  and  Philip  Washington  holding  high 
places  at  University  College,  Oxford.  The  Sulgrave 
branch,  however,  was  the  most  numerous  and  pros 
perous.  From  the  mayor  of  Northampton  were 
descended  Sir  William  Washington,  who  married 
the  half-sister  of  George  Villiers,  Duke  of  Bucking 
ham  ;  Sir  Henry  Washington,  who  made  a  desper 
ate  defence  of  Worcester  against  the  forces  of  the 
Parliament  in  1646;  Lieutenant -Colonel  James 
Washington,  who  fell  at  the  siege  of  Pontefract, 
fighting  for  King  Charles;  another  James,  of  a 
later  time,  who  was  implicated  in  Monmouth's  re 
bellion,  fled  to  Holland  and  became  the  progenitor 
of  a  flourishing  and  successful  family,  which  has 
spread  to  Germany  and  there  been  ennobled ;  Sir 
Lawrence  Washington,  of  Garsdon,  whose  grand 
daughter  married  Robert  Shirley,  Baron  Ferrers ; 
and  others  of  less  note,  but  all  men  of  property  and 
standing.  They  seem  to  have  been  a  successful, 
thrifty  race,  owning  lands  and  estates,  wise  magis 
trates  and  good  soldiers,  marrying  well,  and  in 
creasing  their  wealth  and  strength  from  generation 
to  genemtion.  They  were  of  Norman  stock,  knights 
and  gentlemen  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word  before 
the  French  Revolution,  and  we  can  detect  in  them 
here  and  there  a  marked  strain  of  the  old  Norse 


THE   WASHINGTONS.  35 

blood,  carrying  with,  it  across  the  centuries  the  wild 
Berserker  spirit  which  made  the  adventurous  North 
men  for  centuries  the  terror  of  Europe.  They  were 
a  strong  race  evidently,  these  Washington s,  whom 
we  see  now  only  by  glimpses  through  the  mists  of 
time,  not  brilliant  apparently,  never  winning  the 
very  highest  fortune,  having  their  failures  and  re 
verses  no  doubt,  but  on  the  whole  prudent,  bold 
men,  always  important  in  their  several  stations, 
ready  to  fight  and  ready  to  work,  and  as  a  rule 
successful  in  that  which  they  set  themselves  to  do. 

In  1658  the  two  brothers,  John  and  Lawrence,  i 
appeared  in  Virginia.  They  seem  to  have  been 
men  of  substance,  for  they  purchased  lands  and 
established  themselves  at  Bridges  Creek,  in  West 
moreland  County.  With  this  brief  statement,  Law 
rence  disappears,  leaving  us  nothing  further  than 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  numerous  descendants. 
John,  with  whom  we  are  more  concerned,  figures 
at  once  in  the  colonial  records  of  Maryland.  He 
made  complaint  to  the  Maryland  authorities,  soon 
after  his  arrival,  against  Edward  Prescott,  mer 
chant,  and  captain  of  the  ship  in  which  he  had  come 
over,  for  hanging  a  woman  during  the  voyage  for 
witchcraft.  We  have  a  letter  of  his,  explaining  that 
he  could  not  appear  at  the  first  trial  because  he  was 
about  to  baptize  his  son,  and  had  bidden  the  neigh 
bors  and  gossips  to  the  feast.  A  little  incident 
this,  dug  out  of  the  musty  records,  but  it  shows  us 
an  active,  generous  man,  intolerant  of  oppression, 
public-spirited  and  hospitable,  social,  and  friendly 


36  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

in  his  new  relations.  He  soon  after  was  called  to 
mourn  the  death  of  his  English  wife  and  of  two 
children,  but  he  speedily  consoled  himself  by  taking 
a  second  wife,  Anne  Pope,  by  whom  he  had  three 
children,  Lawrence,  John,  and  Anne.  According 
to  the  Virginian  tradition,  John  Washington  the 
elder  was  a  surveyor,  and  made  a  location  of  lands 
which  was  set  aside  because  they  had  been  assigned 
to  the  Indians.  It  is  quite  apparent  that  he  was 
a  forehanded  person  who  acquired  property  and 
impressed  himself  upon  his  neighbors.  In  1667, 
when  he  had  been  but  ten  years  in  the  colony,  he 
was  chosen  to  the  House  of  Burgesses ;  and  eight 
years  later  he  was  made  a  colonel  and  sent  with 
a  thousand  men  to  join  the  Marylanders  in  destroy 
ing  the  "  Susquehannocks,"  at  the  "  Piscataway  " 
fort,  on  account  of  some  murdering  begun  by  an 
other  tribe.  As  a  feat  of  arms,  the  expedition 
was  not  a  very  brilliant  affair.  The  Virginians 
and  Marylanders  killed  half  a  dozen  Indian  chiefs 
during  a  parley,  and  then  invested  the  fort.  After 
repulsing  several  sorties,  they  stupidly  allowed  the 
Indians  to  escape  in  the  night  and  carry  murder 
and  pillage  through  the  outlying  settlements,  light 
ing  up  first  the  flames  of  savage  war  and  then 
the  fiercer  fire  of  domestic  insurrection.  In  the 
next  year  we  hear  again  of  John  Washington  in 
the  House  of  Burgesses,  when  Sir  William  Berke 
ley  assailed  his  troops  for  the  murder  of  the  Indians 
during  the  parley.  Popular  feeling,  however,  was 
clearly  with  the  colonel,  for  nothing  was  done  and 


TEE  WASH1NGTONS.  37 

the  matter  dropped.  At  that  point,  too,  in  1676, 
John  Washington  disappears  from  sight,  and  we 
know  only  that  as  his  will  was  proved  in  1677,  he 
must  have  died  soon  after  the  scene  with  Berkeley. 
He  was  buried  in  the  family  vault  at  Bridges 
Creek,  and  left  a  good  estate  to  be  divided  among 
his  children.  The  colonel  was  evidently  both  a 
prudent  and  popular  man,  and  quite  disposed  to 
bustle  about  in  the  world  in  which  he  found  him 
self.  He  acquired  lands,  came  to  the  front  at  once 
as  a  leader  although  a  new-comer  in  the  country, 
was  evidently  a  fighting  man  as  is  shown  by  his 
selection  to  command  the  Virginian  forces,  and  was 
honored  by  his  neighbors,  who  gave  his  name  to 
the  parish  in  which  he  dwelt.  Then  he  died  and 
his  son  Lawrence  reigned  in  his  stead,  and  became 
by  his  wife,  Mildred  Warner,  the  father  of  John, 
Augustine  and  Mildred  Washington. 

This  second  son,  Augustine,  farmer  and  planter 
like  his  forefathers,  married  first  Jane  Butler,  by 
whom  he  had  three  sons  and  a  daughter,  and  sec 
ond,  Mary  Ball,  by  whom  he  had  four  sons  and  two 
daughters.  The  eldest  child  of  these  second  nup 
tials  was  named  George,  and  was  born  on  Feb 
ruary  11  (O.  S.),  1732,  at  Bridges  Creek.  The 
house  in  which  this  event  occurred  was  a  plain, 
wooden  farmhouse  of  the  primitive  Virginian  pat 
tern,  with  four  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  an  attic 
story  with  a  long,  sloping  roof,  and  a  massive  brick 
chimney.  Three  years  after  George  Washington's 
birth  it  was  burned,  and  the  family  removed  to 


38  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

another  estate  in  Stafford  County.  This  second 
house  was  like  the  first,  and  stood  on  rising  ground 
looking  across  a  meadow  to  the  Rappahannock, 
and  beyond  the  river  to  the  village  of  Fredericks- 
burg,  which  was  nearly  opposite.  Here,  in  1743, 
Augustine  Washington  died  somewhat  suddenly,  at 
the  age  of  forty-nine,  from  an  attack  of  gout 
brought  on  by  exposure  in  the  rain,  and  was  bur 
ied  with  his  fathers  in  the  old  vault  at  Bridges 
Creek.  Here,  too,  the  boyhood  of  Washington 
was  passed,  and  therefore  it  becomes  necessary  to 
look  about  us  and  see  what  we  can  learn  of  this 
important  period  of  his  life. 

We  know  nothing  about  his  father,  except  that 
he  was  kindly  .and  affectionate,  attached  to  his  wife 
and  children,  and  apparently  absorbed  in  the  care 
of  his  estates.  On  his  death  the  children  came 
wholly  under  the  maternal  influence  and  direction. 
Much  has  been  written  about  the  "  mother  of  Wash 
ington,"  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  although  she  lived 
to  an  advanced  age,  we  know  scarcely  more  about 
her  than  we  do  about  her  husband.  She  was  of  gen 
tle  birth,  and  possessed  a  vigorous  character  and  a 
good  deal  of  business  capacity.  The  advantages  of 
education  were  given  in  but  slight  measure  to  the 
Virginian  ladies  of  her  time,  and  Mrs.  Washing 
ton  offered  no  exception  to  the  general  rule.  Her 
reading  was  confined  to  a  small  number  of  volumes, 
chiefly  of  a  devotional  character,  her  favorite  appar 
ently  being  Hale's  "  Moral  and  Divine  Contempla 
tions."  She  evidently  knew  no  language  but  her 


THE  WASHINGTONS.  39 

own,  and  her  spelling  was  extremely  bad  even  in 
that  age  of  uncertain  orthography.  Certain  quali 
ties,  however,  are  clear  to  us  even  now  through  all 
the  dimness.  We  can  see  that  Mary  Washington 
was  gifted  with  strong  sense,  and  had  the  power 
of  conducting  business  matters  providently  and  ex 
actly.  She  was  an  imperious  woman,  of  strong  will, 
ruling  her  kingdom  alone.  Above  all  she  was  very 
dignified,  very  silent,  and  very  sober-minded.  That 
she  was  affectionate  and  loving  cannot  be  doubted, 
for  she  retained  to  the  last  a  profound  hold  upon 
the  reverential  devotion  of  her  son,  and  yet  as  he 
rose  steadily  to  the  pinnacle  of  human  greatness, 
she  could  only  say  that  "  George  had  been  a  good 
boy,  and  she  was  sure  he  would  do  his  duty."  Not 
a  brilliant  woman  evidently,  not  one  suited  to  shine 
in  courts,  conduct  intrigues,  or  adorn  literature,  yet 
able-  to-transmit-  moral  qualities  to  her  oldest  son, 
which,  mingled  with  those  of  the  Washington^  were 
of  infinite  value  in  the  foundation  of  a  great  Re 
public.  She  found  herself  a  widow  at  an  early  age, 
with  a  family  of  young  children  to  educate  and 
support.  Her  means  were  narrow,  for  although 
Augustine  Washington  was  able  to  leave  what  was 
called  a  landed  estate  to  each  son,  it  was  little  more 
than  idle  capital,  and  the  income  in  ready  money 
was  by  no  means  so  evident  as  the  acres. 

Many  are  the  myths,  and  deplorably  few  the 
facts,  that  have  come  down  to  us  in  regard  to 
Washington's  boyhood.  For  the  former  we  are 
indebted  to  the  illustrious  Weems,  and  to  that  per- 


40  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

sonage  a  few  more  words  must  be  devoted.  Weems 
has  been  held  up  to  the  present  age  in  various  ways, 
usually,  it  must  be  confessed,  of  an  unflattering 
nature,  and  "  mendacious "  is  the  adjective  most 
commonly  applied  to  him.  There  has  been  in 
reality  a  good  deal  of  needless  confusion  about 
Weems  and  his  book,  for  he  was  not  a  complex 
character,  and  neither  he  nor  his  writings  are  diffi 
cult  to  value  or  understand.  By  profession  a  clergy 
man  or  preacher,  by  nature  an  adventurer,  Weems 
loved  notoriety,  money,  and  a  wandering  life.  So 
he  wrote  books  which  he  correctly  believed  would 
be  popular,  and  sold  them  not  only  through  the 
regular  channels,  but  by  peddling  them  himself  as 
he  travelled  about  the  country.  In  this  way  he 
gratified  all  his  propensities,  and  no  doubt  derived 
from  life  a  good  deal  of  simple  pleasure.  Chance 
brought  him  near  Washington  in  the  closing  days, 
and  his  commercial  instinct  told  him  that  here  was 
the  subject  of  all  others  for  his  pen  and  his  mar 
ket.  He  accordingly  produced  the  biography  which 
had  so  much  success.  Judged  solely  as  literature, 
the  book  is  beneath  contempt.  The  style  is  turgid, 
overloaded,  and  at  times  silly.  The  statements  are 
loose,  the  mode  of  narration  confused  and  incohe 
rent,  and  the  moralizing  is  flat  and  commonplace 
to  the  last  degree.  Yet  there  was  a  certain  sin 
cerity  of  feeling  underneath  all  the  bombast  and 
platitudes,  and  this  saved  the  book.  The  biography 
did  not  go,  and  was  not  intended  to  go,  into  the 
hands  of  the  polite  society  of  the  great  eastern 


THE   WASHINGTONS.  41 

towns.  It  was  meant  for  the  farmers,  the  pioneers, 
and  the  backwoodsmen  of  the  country.  It  went 
into  their  homes,  and  passed  with  them  beyond  the 
Alleghanies  and  out  to  the  plains  and  valleys  of 
the  great  West.  The  very  defects  of  the  book 
helped  it  to  success  among  the  simple,  hard-work 
ing,  hard-fighting  race  engaged  in  the  conquest  of 
the  American  continent.  To  them  its  heavy  and 
tawdry  style,  its  staring  morals,  and  its  real  patri 
otism  all  seemed  eminently  befitting  the  national 
hero,  and  thus  Weems  created  the  Washington  of 
the  popular  fancy.  The  idea  grew  up  with  the 
country,  and  became  so  ingrained  in  the  popular 
thought  that  finally  everybody  was  affected  by 
it,  and  even  the  most  stately  and  solemn  of  the 
Washington  biographers  adopted  the  unsupported 
tales  of  the  itinerant  parson  and  book- peddler. 

In  regard  to  the  public  life  of  Washington, 
Weems  took  the  facts  known  to  every  one,  and 
drawn  for  the  most  part  from  the  gazettes.  He 
then  dressed  them  up  in  his  own  peculiar  fashion 
and  gave  them  to  the  world.  All  this,  forming  of 
course  nine  tenths  of  his  book,  has  passed,  despite 
its  success,  into  oblivion.  The  remaining  tenth 
described  Washington's  boyhood  until  his  four 
teenth  or  fifteenth  year,  and  this,  which  is  the  work 
of  the  author's  imagination,  has  lived.  Weems, 
having  set  himself  up  as  absolutely  the  only  author 
ity  as  to  this  period,  has  been  implicitly  followed, 
and  has  thus  come  to  demand  serious  consideration, 
Until  Weems  is  weighed  and  disposed  of,  we  can- 


42  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

not  even  begin  an  attempt  to  get  at  the  real  Wash- 
ington. 

Weems  was  not  a  cold-blooded  liar,  a  mere  forger 
of  anecdotes.  He  was  simply  a  man  destitute  of 
historical  sense,  training,  or  morals,  ready  to  take 
the  slenderest  fact  and  work  it  np  for  the  purposes 
of  the  market  until  it  became  almost  as  impossible 
to  reduce  it  to  its  original  dimensions  as  it  was  for 
the  fisherman  to  get  the  Afrit  back  into  his  jar. 
In  a  word,  Weems  was  an  approved  mythmaker. 
No  better  example  can  be  given  than  the  way  in 
which  he  described  himself.  It  is  believed  that  he 
preached  once,  and  possibly  of tener,  to  a  congrega 
tion  which  numbered  Washington  among  its  mem 
bers.  Thereupon  he  published  himself  in  his  book 
as  the  rector  of  Mount  Vernon  parish.  There  was, 
to  begin  with,  no  such  parish.  There  was  Truro 
parish,  in  which  was  a  church  called  indifferently 
Pohick  or  Mount  Vernon  church.  Of  this  church 
Washington  was  a  vestryman  until  1785,  when  he 
joined  the  church  at  Alexandria.  The  Eev.  Lee 
Massey  was  the  clergyman  of  the  Mount  Vernon 
church,  and  the  church  at  Alexandria  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Moun%  Vernon.  There  never  was,  more 
over,  such  a  person  as  the  rector  of  Mount  Vernon 
parish,  but  it  was  the  Weems  way  of  treating  his 
appearance  before  the  great  man,  and  of  deceiving 
the  world  with  the  notion  of  an  intimacy  which  the 
title  implied. 

Weems,  of  course,  had  no  difficulty  with  the 
public  life,  but  in  describing  the  boyhood  he  was 


THE  WASHINGTON8.  43 

thrown  on  his  own  resources,  and  out  of  them  he 
evolved  the  cherry-tree,  the  refusal  to  fight  or  per 
mit  fighting  among  the  boys  at  school,  and  the 
initials  in  the  garden.  This  last  story  is  to  the 
effect  that  Augustine  Washington  planted  seeds  in 
such  a  manner  that  when  thoy  sprouted  they  formed 
on  the  earth  the  initials  of  his  son's  name,  and  the 
boy  being  much  delighted  thereby,  the  father  ex 
plained  to  him  that  it  was  the  work  of  the  Creator, 
and  thus  inculcated  a  profound  belief  in  God. 
This  tale  is  taken  bodily  from  Dr.  Beattie's  bio 
graphical  sketch  of  his  son,  published  in  England 
in  1799,  and  may  be  dismissed  at  once.  As  to  the 
other  two  more  familiar  anecdotes  there  is  not  a 
scintilla  of  evidence  that  they  had  any  foundation, 
and  with  them  may  be  included  the  colt  story,  told 
by  Mr.  Custis,  a  simple  variation  of  the  cherry-tree 
theme,  which  is  Washington's  early  love  of  truth. 
Weems  says  that  his  stories  were  told  him  by  a 
lady,  and  "  a  good  old  gentleman,"  who  remem 
bered  the  incidents,  while  Mr.  Custis  gives  no  au 
thority  for  his  minute  account  of  a  trivial  event 
over  a  century  old  when  he  wrote.  To  a  writer 
who  invented  the  rector  of  Mou^.t  Vernon,  the  fur 
ther  invention  of  a  couple  of  Boswells  would  be  a 
trifle.  I  say  Boswells  advisedly,  for  these  stories 
are  told  with  the  utmost  minuteness,  and  the  con 
versations  between  Washington  and  his  father  are 
given  as  if  from  a  stenographic  report.  How  Mr. 
Custis,  usually  so  accurate,  came  to  be  so  far  in 
fected  with  the  Weems  myth  as  to  tell  the  colt  story 


44  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

after  the  Weems  manner,  cannot  now  be  deter 
mined.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Washington, 
like  most  healthy  boys,  got  into  a  good  deal  of  mis 
chief,  and  it  is  not  at  all  impossible  that  he  injured 
fruit-trees  and  confessed  that  he  had  done  so.  It 
may  be  accepted  as  certain  that  he  rode  and  mas 
tered  many  unbroken  thoroughbred  colts,  and  it 
is  possible  that  one  of  them  burst  a  blood-vessel  in 
the  process  and  died,  and  that  the  boy  promptly 
told  his  mother  of  the  accident.  But  this  is  the 
utmost  credit  which  these  two  anecdotes  can  claim. 
Even  so  much  as  this  cannot  be  said  of  certain  other 
improving  tales  of  like  nature.  That  Washington 
lectured  his  playmates  on  the  wickedness  of  fight 
ing,  and  in  the  year  1754  allowed  himself  to  be 
knocked  down  in  the  presence  of  his  soldiers,  and 
thei'eupon  begged  his  assailant's  pardon  for  having 
spoken  roughly  to  him,  are  stories  so  silly  and  so 
foolishly  impossible  that  they  do  not  deserve  an 
instant's  consideration. 

There  is  nothing  intrinsically  impossible  in  either 
the  cherry-tree  or  the  colt  incident,  nor  would  there 
be  in  a  hundred  others  which  might  be  readily 
invented.  The  real  point  is  that  these  stories,  as 
told  by  Weems  and  Mr.  Custis,  are  on  their  face 
hopelessly  and  ridiculously  false.  They  are  so,  not 
merely  because  they  have  no  vestige  of  evidence  to 
support  them,  but  because  they  are  in  every  word 
and  line  the  offspring  of  a  period  more  than  fifty 
years  later.  No  English-speaking  people,  certainly 
no.  Virginians,  ever  thought  or  behaved  or  talked  in 


THE  WASHINGTONS.  45 

1740  like  the  personages  in  Weems's  stories,  what 
ever  they  may  have  done  in  1790,  or  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  next  century.  These  precious  anecdotes 
belong  to  the  age  of  Miss  Edgeworth  and  Hannah 
More  and  Jane  Taylor.  They  are  engaging  speci 
mens  of  the  "  Harry  and  Lucy  "  and  "  Purple  Jar  " 
morality,  and  accurately  reflect  the  pale  didacticism 
which  became  fashionable  in  England  at  the  close 
of  the  last  century.  They  are  as  untrue  to  nature 
and  to  fact  at  the  period  to  which  they  are  assigned 
as  would  be  efforts  to  depict  Augustine  Washington 
and  his  wife  in  the  dress  of  the  French  revolution 
discussing  the  propriety  of  worshipping  the  God 
dess  of  Reason. 

To  enter  into  any  serious  historical  criticism  of 
these  stories  would  be  to  break  a  butterfly.  So 
much  as  this  even  has  been  said  only  because  these 
wretched  fables  have  gone  throughout  the  world, 
and  it  is  time  that  they  were  swept  away  into  the 
dust-heaps  of  history.  They  represent  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Washington  as  affected  and  priggish  people, 
given  to  cheap  moralizing,  and,  what  is  far  worse, 
they  have  served  to  place  Washington  himself  in 
a  ridiculous  light  to  an  age  which  has  outgrown 
the  educational  foibles  of  seventy-five  years  ago. 
Augustine  Washington  and  his  wife  were  a  gentle 
man  and  lady  of  the  eighteenth  century,  living  in 
Virginia.  So  far  as  we  know  without  guessing  or 
conjecture,  they  were  simple,  honest,  and  straight 
forward,  devoted  to  the  care  of  their  family  and 
estate,  and  doing  their  duty  sensibly  and  after  the 


46  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

fashion  of  their  time.  Their  son,  to  whom  the 
greatest  wrong  has  been  done,  not  only  never  did 
anything  common  or  mean,  but  from  the  begin 
ning  to  the  end  of  his  life  he  was  never  for  an  in 
stant  ridiculous  or  affected,  and  he  was  as  utterly 
removed  from  canting  or  priggishness  as  any  hu 
man  being, could  well  be.  Let  us  therefore  consign 
the  Weems  stories  and  their  offspring  to  the  limbo 
of  historical  rubbish,  and  try  to  learn  what  the 
plain  facts  tell  us  of  the  boy  Washington. 

Unfortunately  these  same  facts  are  at  first  very 
few,  so  few  that  they  tell  us  hardly  anything.  We 
know  when  and  where  Washington  was  born ;  and 
how,  when  he  was  little  more  than  three  years  old, 
he  was  ta^en  from  Bridges  Creek  to  the  banks  of 
the  Rappahannock.  There  he  was  placed  under  the 
charge  of  one  Hobby,  the  sexton  of  the  parish,  to 
learn  his  alphabet  and  his  pothooks ;  and  when 
that  worthy  man's  store  of  learning  was  exhausted 
he  was  sent  back  to  Bridges  Creek,  soon  after  his 
father's  death,  to  live  with  his  half-brother  Augus 
tine,  and  obtain  the  benefits  of  a  school  kept  by  a 
Mr.  Williams.  There  he  received  what  would  now 
be  called  a  fair  common-school  education,  wholly 
destitute  of  any  instruction  in  languages,  ancient 
or  modern,  but  apparently  with  some  mathematical 
training. 

That  he  studied  faithfully  cannot  be  doubted, 
and  we  know,  too,  that  he  matured  early,  and  was 
a  tall,  active,  and  muscular  boy.  He  could  outwalk 
and  outrun  and  outride  any  of  his  companions. 


THE  WASHINGTONS.  47 

As  he  could  no  doubt  have  thrashed  any  of  them 
too,  he  was,  in  virtue  of  these  qualities,  which  are 
respected  everywhere  by  all  wholesome  minds,  and 
especially  by  boys,  a  leader  among  his  school-fel 
lows.  We  know  further  that  he  was  honest  and 
true,  and  a  lad  of  unusual  promise,  not  because  of 
the  goody-goody  anecdotes  of  the  myth-makers,  but 
because  he  was  liked  and  trusted  by  such  men  as 
his  brother  Lawrence  and  Lord  Fairfax. 

There  he  was,  at  all  events,  in  his  fourteenth 
year,  a  big,  strong,  hearty  boy,  offering  a  serious 
problem  to  his  mother,  who  was  struggling  along 
with  many  acres,  little  money,  and  five  children. 
Mrs.  Washington's  chief  desire  naturally  was  to 
put  George  in  the  way  of  getting  a  living,  which 
no  doubt  seemed  far  more  important  than  getting 
an  education,  and,  as  he  was  a  sober-minded  boy, 
the  same  idea  was  probably  profoundly  impressed 
on  his  own  mind  also.  This  condition  of  domestic 
affairs  led  to  the  first  attempt  to  give  Washington 
a  start  in  life,  which  has  been  given  to  us  until 
very  lately  in  a  somewhat  decorated  form.  The 
fact  is,  that  in  casting  about  for  something  to  do,  it 
occurred  to  some  one,  very  likely  to  the  boy  him 
self,  that  it  would  be  a  fine  idea  to  go  to  sea.  His 
masculine  friends  and  relatives  urged  the  scheme 
upon  Mrs.  Washington,  who  consented  very  reluc 
tantly,  if  at  all,  not  liking  the  notion  of  parting 
with  her  oldest  son,  even  in  her  anxiety  to  have 
him  earn  his  bread.  When  it  came  to  the  point, 
however,  she  finally  decided  against  his  going,  de- 


48  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

termined  probably  by  a  very  sensible  letter  from 
her  brother,  Joseph  Ball,  an  English  lawyer.  In 
all  the  ornamented  versions  we  are  informed  that 
the  boy  was  to  enter  the  royal  navy,  and  that  a  mid 
shipman's  warrant  was  procured  for  him.  There 
does  not  appear  to  be  any  valid  authority  for  the 
royal  navy,  the  warrant,  or  the  midshipman.  The 
contemporary  Virginian  letters  speak  simply  of 
"going  to  sea,"  while  Mr.  Ball  says  distinctly  that 
the  plan  was  to  enter  the  boy  on  a  tobacco  ship, 
with  an  excellent  chance  of  being  pressed  on  a  man- 
of-war,  and  a  very  faint  prospect  of  either  getting 
into  the  navy,  or  even  rising  to  be  the  captain  of 
one  of  the  petty  trading-vessels  familiar  to  Vir 
ginian  planters.  Some  recent  writers  have  put  Mr. 
Ball  aside  as  not  knowing  what  was  intended  in 
regard  to  his  nephew,  but  in  view  of  the  difficulty 
at  that  time  of  obtaining  commissions  in  the  navy 
without  great  political  influence,  it  seems  probable 
that  Mrs.  Washington's  brother  knew  very  well 
what  he  was  talking  about,  and  he  certainly  wrote 
a  very  sensible  letter.  A  bold,  adventurous  boy, 
eager  to  earn  his  living  and  make  his  way  in  the 
world,  would,  like  many  others  before  him,  look 
longingly  to  the  sea  as  the  highway  to  fortune  and 
success.  To  Washington  the  romance  of  the  sea 

O 

was  represented  by  the  tobacco  ship  creeping  up 
the  river  and  bringing  all  the  luxuries  and  many  of 
the  necessaries  of  life  from  vaguely  distant  coun 
tries.  No  doubt  he  wished  to  go  on  one  of  these 
vessels  and  try  his  luck,  and  very  possibly  the  royal 


THE   WASH1NGTONS.  49 

navy  was  hoped  for  as  the  ultimate  result.  The 
effort  was  certainly  made  to  send  him  to  sea,  but  it 
failed,  and  he  went  back  to  school  to  study  more 
mathematics. 

Apart  from  the  fact  that  the  exact  sciences  in 
moderate  degree  were  about  all  that  Mr.  Williams 
could  teach,  this  branch  of  learning  had  an  imme 
diate  practical  value,  inasmuch  as  surveying  was 
almost  the  only  immediately  gainful  pursuit  open 
to  a  young  Virginia  gentleman,  who  sorely  needed 
a  little  ready  money  that  he  might  buy  slaves  and 
work  a  plantation.  So  Washington  studied  on  for 
two  years  more,  and  fitted  himself  to  be  a  surveyor. 
There  are  still  extant  some  early  papers  belonging 
to  this  period,  chiefly  fragments  of  school  exercises, 
which  show  that  he  already  wrote  the  bold,  hand 
some  hand  with  which  the  world  was  to  become 
familiar,  and  that  he  made  geometrical  figures  and 
notes  of  surveys  with  the  neatness  and  accuracy 
which  clung  to  him  in  all  the  work  of  his  life, 
whether  great  or  small.  Among  those  papers  too 
were  found  many  copies  of  legal  forms,  and  a  set  of 
rules,  over  a  hundred  in  number,  as  to  etiquette  and 
behavior,  carefully  written  out.  It  has  always  been 
supposed  that  these  rules  were  copied,  but  it  was 
reserved  apparently  for  the  storms  of  a  mighty 
civil  war  to  lay  bare  the  original  source.  At  that 
time  a  little  volume  was  found  in  Virginia  bearing 
the  name  of  George  Washington  in  a  boyish  hand 
on  the  flyleaf,  and  the  date  1742.  The  book  was 
entitled,  "  The  Young  Man's  Companion."  It  was 


50  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

an  English  work,  and  had  passed  through  thirteen 
editions,  which  was  little  enough  in  view  of  its 
varied  and  extensive  information.  It  was  written 
by  W.  Mather,  in  a  plain  and  easy  style,  and 
treated  of  arithmetic,  surveying,  forms  for  legal 
documents,  the  measuring  of  land  and  lumber,  gar 
dening,  and  many  other  useful  topics,  and  at  the 
end  it  contained  the  rules  for  behavior  found  in 
manuscript  among  Washington's  papers.1  These 
rules  were  in  the  main  wise  and  sensible,  and  it 
is  evident  they  made  a  deep  impression  on  the 
boy's  mind.2  There  is  something  strangely  pro 
phetic  about  these  little  aphorisms,  for  all  the  seri 
ous  rules  are  very  characteristic  of  Washington 
throughout  his  life.  What,  for  example,  could  be 
more  apt  than  the  last  one,  given  by  Mr.  Sparks : 
"Labor  to  keep  alive  in  your  breast  that  little 
spark  of  celestial  fire  called  conscience."  To  sup 
pose  that  Washington's  character  was  formed  by 
these  sententious  bits  of  not  very  profound  wisdom 
would  be  absurd  ;  but  that  a  series  of  rules  which 
most  lads  would  have  regarded  as  simply  dull 
should  have  been  pondered  by  this  boy  indicates 
a  soberness  and  strength  of  mind  which  certainly 
are  not  usual  at  that  age.  The  one  thought  that 
runs  through  all  the  sayings  is  to  practise  self- 

1  An  account  of  this  volume  was  given  in  the  New  York 
Tribune  in  1866,  and  also  in  the  Historical  Magazine  (x.  47).  It 
is  stated  that  the  book  was  presented  to  General  Grant,  and,  if 
so,  it  has  now  passed  into  the  keeping  of  the  government. 

2  The  most  important  are  given  in  Sparks'  Writings  of 
Washington,  ii.  412. 


THE 

_ 

control,  and  no  man  ever  displayed  that  most 
difficult  of  virtues  to  such  a  degree  as  George 
Washington.  It  was  no  ordinary  boy  who  took 
such  a  lesson  as  this  to  heart  before  he  was  fif 
teen,  and  carried  it  into  his  daily  life,  never  to  be 
forgotten.  It  may  also  be  said  that  very  few  boys 
ever  needed  it  more ;  but  those  persons  who  know 
what  they  chiefly  need,  and  pursue  it,  are  by  no 
means  common. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON   THE   FRONTIER. 

WHILE  Washington  was  working  his  way 
through  the  learning  purveyed  by  Mr.  Williams, 
he  was  also  receiving  another  education,  of  a 
much  broader  and  better  sort,  from  the  men  and 
women  among  whom  he  found  himself,  and  with 
whom  he  made  friends.  Chief  among  them  was  his 
eldest  brother,  Lawrence,  fourteen  years  his  senior, 
who  had  been  educated  in  England,  had  fought 
with  Vernon  at  Carthagena,  and  had  then  re 
turned  to  Virginia,  to  be  to  him  u  generous  father 
and  a  loving  friend.  As  the  head  of  the  family, 
Lawrence  Washington  had  received  the  lion's 
share  of  the  property,  including  the  estate  at 
Hunting  Creek,  on  the  Potomac,  which  he  chris 
tened  Mount  Vernon,  after  his  admiral,  and  where 
he  settled  down  and  built  him  a  goodly  house. 
To  this  pleasant  spot  George  Washington  jour 
neyed  often  in  vacation  time,  and  there  he  came  to 
live  and  further  pursue  his  studies,  after  leaving 
school  in  the  autumn  of  1747. 

Lawrence  Washington  had  married  the  daugh 
ter  of  William  Fairfax,  the  proprietor  of  Belvoir,  a 
neighboring  plantation,  and  the  agent  for  the  vast 


ON  TEE  FRONTIER.  53 

estates  held  by  his  family  in  Virginia.  George 
Fairfax,  Mrs.  Washington's  brother,  had  married 
a  Miss  Carey,  and  thus  two  large  and  agreeable 
family  connections  were  thrown  open  to  the  young 
surveyor  when  he  emerged  from  school.  The  chief 
figure,  however,  in  that  pleasant  winter  of  1747-48, 
so  far  as  an  influence  upon  the  character  of  Wash 
ington  is  concerned,  was  the  head  of  the  family 
into  which  Lawrence  Washington  had  married. 
Thomas,  Lord  Fairfax,  then  sixty  years  of  age,  had 
come  to  Virginia  to  live  upon  and  look  after  the 
kingdom  which  he  had  inherited  in  the  wilderness. 
He  came  of  a  noble  and  distinguished  race.  Grad 
uating  at  Oxford  with  credit,  he  served  in  the  army, 
dabbled  in  literature,  had  his  fling  in  the  London 
world,  and  was  jilted  by  a  beauty  who  preferred  a 
duke,  and  gave  her  faithful  but  less  titled  lover  an 
apparently  incurable  wound.  His  life  having  been 
thus  early  twisted  and  set  awry,  Lord  Fairfax, 
when  well  past  his  prime,  had  determined  finally 
to  come  to  Virginia,  bury  himself  in  the  forests, 
and  look  after  the  almost  limitless  possessions 
beyond  the  Blue  Ridge,  which  he  had  inherited 
from  his  maternal  grandfather,  Lord  Culpeper,  of 
unsavory  Restoration  memory.  It  was  a  piece  of 
great  good-fortune  which  threw  in  Washington's 
path  this  accomplished  gentleman,  familiar  with 
courts  and  camps,  disappointed,  but  not  morose, 
disillusioned,  but  still  kindly  and  generous.  From 
him  the  boy  could  gain  that  knowledge  of  men  and 
manners  which  no  school  can  give,  and  which  is 


54  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

as  important  in  its  way  as  any  that  a  teacher  can 
impart. 

Lord  Fairfax  and  Washington  became  fast 
friends.  They  hunted  the  fox  together,  and 
hunted  him  hard.  They  engaged  in  all  the  rough 
sports  and  perilous  excitements  that  Virginia  win 
ter  life  could  afford,  and  the  boy's  bold  and  skilful 
riding,  his  love  of  sports  and  his  fine  temper, 
commended  him  to  the  warm  and  affectionate  in 
terest  of  the  old  nobleman.  Other  qualities,  too, 
the  experienced  man  of  the  world  saw  in  his  young 
companion :  a  high  and  persistent  courage,  robust 
and  calm  sense,  and,  above  all,  unusual  force  of 
will  and  character.  Washington  impressed  pro 
foundly  everybody  with  whom  he  was  brought  into 
personal  contact,  a  fact  which  is  one  of  the  most 
marked  features  of  his  character  and  career,  and 
one  which  deserves  study  more  than  almost  any 
other.  Lord  Fairfax  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
He  saw  in  Washington  not  simply  a  promising, 
brave,  open-hearted  boy,  diligent  in  practising  his 
profession,  and  whom  he  was  anxious  to  help,  but 
something  more ;  something  which  so  impressed 
him  that  he  confided  to  this  lad  a  task  which,  ac 
cording  to  its  performance,  would  affect  both  his 
fortune  and  his  peace.  In  a  word,  he  trusted 
Washington,  and  told  him,  as  the  spring  of  1748 
was  opening,  to  go  forth  and  survey  the  vast  Fair 
fax  estates  beyond  the  Ridge,  define  their  boun 
daries,  and  save  them  from  future  litigation. 
With  this  commission  from  Lord  Fairfax,  Wash- 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  55 

ington  entered  on  the  first  period  of  his  career. 
He  passed  it  on  .the  frontier,  fighting  nature,  the 
Indians,  and  the  French.  He  went  in  a  schoolboy ; 
he  came  out  the  first  soldier  in  the  colonies,  and 
one  of  the  leading  men  of  Virginia.  Let  us  pause 
a  moment  and  look  at  him  as  he  stands  on  the 
threshold  of  this  momentous  period,  rightly  called 
momentous  because  it  was  the  formative  period  in 
the  life  of  such  a  man. 

Pie  had  just  passed  his  sixteenth  birthday.  He 
was  tall  and  muscular,  approaching  the  stature  of 
more  than  six  feet  which  he  afterwards  attained. 
He  was  not  yet  filled  out  to  manly  proportions,  but 
was  rather  spare,  after  the  fashion  of  youth.  He 
had  a  well-shaped,  active  figure,  symmetrical  ex 
cept  for  the  unusual  length  of  the  arms,  indicating 
uncommon  strength.  His  light  brown  hair  was 
drawn  back  from  a  broad  forehead,  and  grayish- 
blue  eyes  looked  happily,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  so 
berly,  on  the  pleasant  Virginia  world  about  him. 
The  face  was  open  and  manly,  with  a  square,  mas 
sive  jaw,  and  a  general  expression  of  calmness  and 
strength.  "  Fair  and  florid,"  big  and  strong,  he 
was,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  as  fine  a  specimen  of 
his  race  as  could  be  found  in  the  English  colonies. 

Let  us  look  a  little  closer  through  the  keen  eyes 
of  one  who  studied  many  faces  to  good  purpose. 
The  great  painter  of  portraits,  Gilbert  Stuart,  tells 
us  of  Washington  that  he  never  saw  in  any  man 
such  large  eye-sockets,  or  such  a  breadth  of  nose 
and  forehead  between  the  eyes,  and  that  he  read 


56  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

there  the  evidences  of  the  strongest  passions  pos 
sible  to  human  nature.  John  Bernard  the  actor,  a 
good  observer,  too,  saw  in  Washington's  face,  in 
1797,  the  signs  of  an  habitual  conflict  and  mastery 
of  passions,  witnessed  by  the  compressed  mouth 
and  deeply  indented  brow.  The  problem  had  been 
solved  then ;  but  in  1748,  passion  and  will  alike 
slumbered,  and  no  man  could  tell  which  would  pre 
vail,  or  whether  they  would  work  together  to  great 
purpose  or  go  jarring  on  to  nothingness.  He  rises 
up  to  us  out  of  the  past  in  that  early  springtime  a 
fine,  handsome,  athletic  boy,  beloved  by  those  about 
him,  who  found  him  a  charming  companion  and 
did  not  guess  that  he  might  be  a  terribly  dangerous 
foe.  He  rises  up  instinct  with  life  and  strength,  a 
being  capable,  as  we  know,  of  great  things  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  with  hot  blood  pulsing  in  his  veins 
and  beating  in  his  heart,  with  violent  passions  and 
relentless  will  still  undeveloped,  and  110  one  in  all 
that  jolly,  generous  Virginian  society  even  dimly 
dreamed  what  that  development  would  be,  or  what 
it  would  mean  to  the  world. 

It  was  in  March,  1748,  that  George  Fairfax  and 
Washington  set  forth  on  their  adventures,  and 
passing  through  Ashley's  Gap  in  the  Blue  Ridge, 
entered  the  valley  of  Virginia.  Thence  they  worked 
their  way  up  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  survey 
ing  as  they  went,  returned  and  swam  the  swollen 
Potomac,  surveyed  the  lands  about  its  south  branch 
and  in  the  mountainous  region  of  Frederick  County, 
and  finally  reached  Mount  Vernon  again  on  April 


ON   THE   FRONTIER.  57 

12th.  It  was  a  rough  experience  for  a  beginner, 
but  a  wholesome  one,  and  furnished  the  usual  vicis 
situdes  of  frontier  life.  They  were  wet  and  cold 
and  hungry,  or  warm  and  dry  and  well  fed,  by 
turns.  They  slept  in  a  tent,  or  the  huts  of  the  scat 
tered  settlers,  and  oftener  still  beneath  the  stars. 
They  met  a  war  party  of  Indians,  and  having  plied 
them  with  liquor,  watched  one  of  their  mad  dances 
round  the  camp-fire.  In  another  place  they  came 
on  a  straggling  settlement  of  Germans,  dull,  pa 
tient,  and  illiterate,  strangely  unfit  for  the  life  of 
the  wilderness.  All  these  things,  as  well  as  the 
progress  of  their  work  and  their  various  resting- 
places,  Washington  noted  down  briefly  but  method 
ically  in  a  diary,  showing  in  these  rough  notes  the 
first  evidences  of  that  keen  observation  of  nature 
and  men  and  daily  incidents  which  he  developed  to 
such  good  purpose  in  after-life.  There  are  no 
rhapsodies  and  no  reflections  in  these  hasty  jottings, 
but  the  employments  and  the  discomforts  are  all 
set  down  in  a  simple  and  matter-of-fact  way,  which 
omitted  no  essential  thing  and  excluded  all  that 
was  worthless.  His  work,  too,  was  well  done,  and 
Lord  Fairfax  was  so  much  pleased  by  the  report 
that  he  moved  across  the  Blue  Ridge,  built  a  hunt 
ing  lodge  preparatory  to  something  more  splendid 
which  never  came  to  pass,  and  laid  out  a  noble 
manor,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Green  way 
Court.  He  also  procured  for  Washington  an  ap 
pointment  as  a  public  surveyor,  which  conferred 
authority  on  his  surveys  and  provided  him  with 


58  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

regular  work.  Thus  started,  Washington  toiled  at 
his  profession  for  three  years,  living  and  working  as 
he  did  on  his  first  expedition.  It  was  a  rough  life, 
but  a  manly  and  robust  one,  and  the  men  who  live 
it,  although  often  rude  and  coarse,  are -never  weak 
or  effeminate.  To  Washington  it  was  an  admirable 
school.  It  strengthened  his  muscles  and  hardened 
him  to  exposure  and  fatigue.  It  accustomed  him 
to  risks  and  perils  of  various  kinds,  and  made  him 
fertile  in  expedients  and  confident  of  himself,  while 
the  nature  of  his  work  rendered  him  careful  and 
industrious.  That  his  work  was  well  done  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  his  surveys  were  considered  of  the 
first  authority,  and  stand  unquestioned  to  this  day, 
like  certain  other  work  which  he  was  subsequently 
called  to  do.  It  was  part  of  his  character,  when  he 
did  anything,  to  do  it  in  a  lasting  fashion,  and  it  is 
worth  while  to  remember  that  the  surveys  he  made 
as  a  boy  were  the  best  that  could  be  made. 

He  wrote  to  a  friend  at  this  time :  "  Since  you 
received  my  letter  of  October  last,  I  have  not  slept 
above  three  or  four  nights  in  a  bed,  but,  after 
walking  a  good  deal  all  the  day,  I  have  lain  down 
before  the  fire  upon  a  little  hay,  straw,  fodder,  or  a 
bearskin,  whichever  was  to  be  had,  with  man,  wife, 
and  children,  like  dogs  and  cats ;  and  happy  is  he 
who  gets  the  berth  nearest  the  fire.  Nothing  would 
make  it  pass  off  tolerably  but  a  good  reward.  A 
doubloon  is  my  constant  gain  every  day  that  the 
weather  will  permit  of  my  going  out,  and  sometimes 
six  pistoles."  He  was  evidently  a  thrifty  lad,  and 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  59 

honestly  pleased  with  honest  earnings.  He  was  no 
mere  adventurous  wanderer,  but  a  man  working 
for  results  in  money,  reputation,  or  some  solid 
value,  and  while  he  worked  and  earned  he  kept  an 
observant  eye  upon  the  wilderness,  and  bought  up 
when  he  could  the  best  land  for  himself  and  his 
family,  laying  the  foundations  of  the  great  landed 
estate  of  which  he  died  possessed. 

There  was  also  a  lighter  and  pleasanter  side  to 
this  hard-working  existence,  which  was  quite  as 
useful,  and  more  attractive,  than  toiling  in  the 
woods  and  mountains.  The  young  surveyor  passed 
much  of  his  time  at  Greenway  Court,  hunting  the 
fox  and  rejoicing  in  all  field  sports  which  held  high 
place  in  that  kingdom,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
profited  much  in  graver  fashion  by  his  friendship 
with  such  a  man  as  Lord  Fairfax.  There,  too,  he 
had  a  chance  at  a  library,  and  his  diaries  show  that 
he  read  carefully  the  history  of  England  and  the 
essays  of  the  "Spectator."  Neither  in  early  days 
nor  at  any  other  time  was  he  a  student,  for  he  had 
few  opportunities,  and  his  life  from  the  beginning 
was  out  of  doors  and  among  men.  But  the  idea 
sometimes  put  forward  that  Washington  cared 
nothing  for  reading  or  for  books  is  an  idle  one. 
He  read  at  Greenway  Court  and  everywhere  else 
when  he  had  a  chance,  and  he  read  well  and  to 
some  purpose,  studying  men  and  events  in  books  as 
he  did  in  the  world,  and  though  he  never  talked  of 
his  reading,  preserving  silence  on  that  as  on  other 
things  concerning  himself,  no  one  ever  was  able 


60  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

to  record  an  instance  in  which  he  showed  himself 
ignorant  of  history  or  of  literature.  He  was  never 
a  learned  man,  but  so  far  as  his  own  language 
could  carry  him  he  was  an  educated  one.  Thus 
while  he  developed  the  sterner  qualities  by  hard 
work  and  a  rough  life,  he  did  not  bring  back  the 
coarse  habits  of  the  backwoods  and  the  camp-fire, 
but  was  able  to  refine  his  manners  and  improve  his 
mind  in  the  excellent  society  and  under  the  hospi 
table  roof  of  Lord  Fairfax. 

Three  years  slipped  by,  and  then  a  domestic 
change  came  which  much  affected  Washington's 
whole  life.  The  Carthagena  campaign  had  under 
mined  the  strength  of  Lawrence  Washington  and 
sown  the  seeds  of  consumption,  which  showed  itself 
in  1749,  and  became  steadily  more  alarming.  A 
voyage  to  England  and  a  summer  at  the  warm 
springs  were  tried  without  success,  and  finally,  as  a 
last  resort,  the  invalid  sailed  for  the  West  Indies, 
in  September,  1751.  Thither  his  brother  George 
accompanied  him,  and  we  have  the  fragments  of  a 
diary  kept  during  this  first  and  last  wandering  out 
side  his  native  country.  He  copied  the  log,  noted 
the  weather,  and  evidently  strove  to  get  some  idea 
of  nautical  matters  while  he  was  at  sea  and  leading 
a  life  strangely  unfamiliar  to  a  woodsman  and 
pioneer.  When  they  arrived  they  were  imme 
diately  asked  to  breakfast  and  dine  with  Major 
Clarke,  the  military  magnate  of  the  place,  and  our 
young  Virginian  remarked,  with  characteristic 
prudence  and  a  certain  touch  of  grim  humor,  "  We 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  61 

went,  —  myself  with  some  reluctance,  as  the  small 
pox  was  in  the  family."  He  fell  a  victim  to  his 
good  manners,  for  two  weeks  later  he  was  "  strongly 
attacked  with  the  smallpox,"  and  was  then  housed 
for  a  month,  getting  safely  and  successfully  through 
this  dangerous  and  then  almost  universal  ordeal. 
Before  the  disease  declared  itself,  however,  he  went 
about  everywhere,  innocently  scattering  infection, 
and  greatly  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  island. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  that  any  part  of  this  diary 
should  have  been  lost,  for  it  is  pleasant  reading,  and 
exhibits  the  writer  in  an  agreeable  and  characteris 
tic  fashion.  He  commented  on  the  country  and 
the  scenery,  inveighed  against  the  extravagance  of 
the  charges  for  board  and  lodging,  told  of  his  din 
ner-parties  and  his  friends,  and  noted  the  marvel 
ous  abundance  and  variety  of  the  tropical  fruits, 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  the  British  dishes 
of  beefsteak  and  tripe.  He  also  mentioned  being 
treated  to  a  ticket  to  see  the  play  of  "  George  Barn- 
well,"  on  which  he  offered  this  cautious  criticism  : 
"The  character  of  Barn  well  and  several  others 
were  said  to  be  well  performed.  There  was  music 
adapted  and  regularly  conducted." 

Soon  after  his  recovery  Washington  returned  to 
Virginia,  arriving  there  in  February,  1752.  The 
diary  concluded  with  a  brief  but  perfectly  effective 
description  of  Barbadoes,  touching  on  its  resources 
and  scenery,  its  government  and  condition,  and  the 
manners  and  customs  of  its  inhabitants.  All 
through  these  notes  we  find  the  keenly  observant 


62  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

spirit,  and  the  evidence  of  a  mind  constantly  alert 
to  learn.  We  see  also  a  pleasant,  happy  tempera 
ment,  enjoying  with  hearty  zest  all  the  pleasures 
that  youth  and  life  could  furnish.  He  who  wrote 
these  lines  was  evidently  a  vigorous,  good-hu- 
uiored  young  fellow,  with  a  quick  eye  for  the  world 
opening  before  him,  and  for  the  delights  as  well  as 
the  instruction  which  it  offered. 

From  the  sunshine  and  ease  of  this  tropical  win 
ter  Washington  passed  to  a  long  season  of  trial 
and  responsibility  at  home  and  abroad.  In  July, 
1752,  his  much-loved  brother  Lawrence  died,  leav 
ing  George  guardian  of  his  daughter,  and  heir  to 
his  estates  in  the  event  of  that  daughter's  death. 
Thus  the  current  of  his  home  life  changed,  and  re 
sponsibility  came  into  it,  while  outside  the  mighty 
stream  of  public  events  changed  too,  and  swept 
him  along  in  the  swelling  torrent  of  a  world-wide 
war. 

In  all  the  vast  wilderness  beyond  the  mountains 
there  was  not  room  for  both  French  and  English. 
The  rival  nations  had  been  for  years  slowly  ap 
proaching  each  other,  until  in  1749  each  people 
proceeded  at  last  to  take  possession  of  the  Ohio 
country  after  its  own  fashion.  The  French  sent  a 
military  expedition  which  sank  and  nailed  up 
leaden  plates ;  the  English  formed  a  great  land 
company  to  speculate  and  make  money,  and  both 
set  diligently  to  work  to  make  Indian  alliances.  A 
man  of  far  less  perception  than  Lawrence  Wash 
ington,  who  had  become  the  chief  manager  of  the 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  63 

Ohio  Company,  would  have  seen  that  the  conditions 
on  the  frontier  rendered  war  inevitable,  and  he  ac 
cordingly  made  ready  for  the  future  by  preparing 
his  brother  for  the  career  of  a  soldier,  so  far  as  it 
could  be  done.  He  brought  to  Mount  Vernon  two 
old  companions-in-arms  of  the  Carthagena  time, 
Adjutant  Muse,  a  Virginian,  and  Jacob  Van 
Braam,  a  Dutch  soldier  of  fortune.  The  former 
instructed  Washington  in  the  art  of  war,  tactics, 
and  the  manual  of  arms,  the  latter  in  fencing  and 
the  sword  exercise.  At  the  same  time  Lawrence 
Washington  procured  for  his  brother,  then  only 
nineteen  years  of  age,  an  appointment  as  one  of 
the  adjutants-general  of  Virginia,  with  the  rank  of 
major.  To  all  this  the  young  surveyor  took  kindly 
enough  so  far  as  we  can  tell,  but  his  military  avo 
cations  were  interrupted  by  his  voyage  to  Barba- 
does,  by  the  illness  and  death  of  his  brother,  and 
by  the  cares  and  responsibilities  thereby  thrust 
upon  him. 

Meantime  the  French  aggressions  had  continued, 
and  French  soldiers  and  traders  were  working  their 
way  up  from  the  South  and  down  from  the  North, 
bullying  and  cajoling  the  Indians  by  turns,  taking 
possession  of  the  Ohio  country,  and  selecting 
places  as  they  went  for  that  chain  of  forts  which 
was  to  hem  in  and  slowly  strangle  the  English  set 
tlements.  Governor  Dinwiddie  had  sent  a  com 
missioner  to  remonstrate  against  these  encroach 
ments,  but  his  envoy  had  stopped  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  short  of  the  French  posts,  alarmed  by 


64  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  troublous  condition  of  things,  and  by  the  de 
feat  and  slaughter  which  the  Frenchmen  had  al 
ready  inflicted  upon  the  Indians.  Some  more  vig 
orous  person  was  evidently  needed  to  go  through 
the  form  of  warning  France  not  to  trespass  on 
the  English  wilderness  and  thereupon  Governor 
Dinwiddie  selected  for  the  task  George  Washing 
ton,  recently  reappointed  adjutant-general  of  the 
northern  division,  and  major  in  the  Virginian 
forces.  He  was  a  young  man  for  such  an  under 
taking,  not  yet  twenty-two,  but  clearly  of  good 
reputation.  It  is  plain  enough  that  Lord  Fairfax 
and  others  had  said  to  the  governor,  "  Here  is  the 
very  man  for  you  ;  young,  daring,  and  adventur 
ous,  but  yet  sober-minded  and  responsible,  who 
only  lacks  opportunity  to  show  the  stuff  that  is  in 
him." 

Thus,  then,  in  October,  1753,  Washington  set 
forth  with  Van  Braam,  and  various  servants  and 
horses,  accompanied  by  the  boldest  of  Virginian 
frontiersmen,  Christopher  Gist.  He  wrote  a  re 
port  in  the  form  of  a  journal,  which  was  sent  to 
England  and  much  read  at  the  time  as  part  of 
the  news  of  the  day,  and  which  has  an  equal 
although  different  interest  now.  It  is  a  succinct, 
clear,  and  sober  narrative.  The  little  party  was 
formed  at  Will's  Creek,  and  thence  through  woods 
and  over  swollen  rivers  made  its  way  to  Logs- 
town.  Here  they  spent  some  days  among  the  In 
dians,  whose  leaders  Washington  got  within  his 
grasp  after  much  speech-making ;  and  here,  too, 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  65 

he  met  some  French  deserters  from  the  South,  and 
drew  from  them  all  the  knowledge  they  possessed 
of  New  Orleans  and  the  military  expeditions  from 
that  region.  From  Logstown  he  pushed  on,  ac 
companied  by  his  Indian  chiefs,  to  Yenango,  on 
the  Ohio,  the  first  French  outpost.  The  French 
officers  asked  him  to  sup  with  them.  The  wine 
flowed  freely,  the  tongues  of  the  hosts  were  loos 
ened,  and  the  young  Virginian,  temperate  and 
hard-headed,  listened  to  all  the  conversation,  and 
noted  down  mentally  much  that  was  interesting 
and  valuable.  The  next  morning  the  Indian  chiefs, 
prudently  kept  in  the  background,  appeared,  and 
a  struggle  ensued  between  the  talkative,  clever 
Frenchmen  and  the  quiet,  persistent  Virginian, 
over  the  possession  of  these  important  savages. 
Finally  Washington  got  off,  carrying  his  chiefs 
with  him,  and  made  his  way  seventy  miles  fur 
ther  to  the  fort  on  French  Creek.  Here  he  deliv 
ered  the  governor's  letter,  and  while  M.  de  St. 
Pierre  wrote  a  vague  and  polite  answer,  he  sketched 
the  fort  and  informed  himself  in  regard  to  the  mil- 

o 

itary  condition  of  the  post.  Then  came  another 
struggle  over  the  Indians,  and  finally  Washington 
got  off  with  them  once  more,  and  worked  his  way 
back  to  Venango.  Another  struggle  for  the  sav 
ages  followed,  rum  being  always  the  principal  fac 
tor  in  the  negotiation,  and  at  last  the  chiefs  deter 
mined  to  stay  behind.  Nevertheless,  the  work  had 
been  well  done,  and  the  important  Half-King  re 
mained  true  to  the  English  cause. 


66  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Leaving  his  horses,  Washington  and  Gist  then 
took  to  the  woods  on  foot.  The  French  Indians 
lay  in  wait  for  them  and  tried  to  murder  them,  and 
Gist,  like  a  true  frontiersman,  was  for  shooting  the 
scoundrel  whom  they  captured.  But  Washington 
stayed  his  hand,  and  they  gave  the  savage  the  slip 
and  pressed  on.  It  was  the  middle  of  December 
and  cold  and  stormy*  In  crossing  a  river,  Wash 
ington  fell  from  the  raft  into  deep  water,  amid  the 
floating  ice,  but  fought  his  way  out,  and  he  and  his 
companion  passed  the  night  on  an  island,  with 
their  clothes  frozen  upon  them.  So  through  peril 
and  privation,  and  various  dangers,  stopping  in  the 
midst  of  it  all  to  win  another  savage  potentate, 
they  reached  the  edge  of  the  settlements  and  thence 
went  on  to  Williamsburg,  where  great  praise  and 
glory  were  awarded  to  the  youthful  envoy,  the  hero 
of  the  hour  in  the  little  Virginia  capital. 

It  is  worth  while  to  pause  over  this  expedition  a 
moment  and  to  consider  attentively  this  journal 
which  recounts  it,  for  there  are  very  few  incidents 
or  documents  which  tell  us  more  of  Washington. 
He  was  not  yet  twenty-two  when  he  faced  this  first 
grave  responsibility,  and  he  did  his  work  absolutely 
well.  Cool  courage,  of  course,  he  showed,  but  also 
patience  and  wisdom  in  handling  the  Indians,  a 
clear  sense  that  the  crafty  and  well-trained  French 
men  could  not  blind,  and  a  strong  faculty  for  deal 
ing  with  men,  always  a  rare  and  precious  gift.  As 
in  the  little  Barbadoes  diary,  so  also  in  this  journal, 
we  see,  and  far  more  strongly,  the  penetration  and 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  67 

perception  that  nothing  could  escape,  and  which  set 
down  all  things  essential  and  let  the  "  huddling 
silver,  little  worth,"  go  by.  The  clearness,  terse 
ness,  and  entire  sufficiency  of  the  narrative  are 
obvious  and  lie  on  the  surface ;  but  we  find  also 
another  quality  of  the  man  which  is  one  of  the  most 
marked  features  in  his  character,  and  one  which 
we  must  dwell  upon  again  and  again,  as  we  follow 
the  story  of  his  life.  Here  it  is  that  we  learn  di 
rectly  for  the  first  time  that  Washington  was  a 
profoundly  silent  man.  The  gospel  of  silence  has 
been  preached  in  these  latter  days  by  Carlyle,  with 
the  fervor  of  a  seer  and  prophet,  and  the  world 
owes  him  a  debt  for  the  historical  discredit  which 
he  has  brought  upon  the  man  of  words  as  com 
pared  with  the  man  of  deeds.  Carlyle  brushed 
Washington  aside  as  "  a  bloodless  Cromwell,"  a 
phrase  to  which  we  must  revert  later  on  other 
grounds,  and,  as  has  already  been  said,  failed  ut 
terly  to  see  that  he  was  the  most  supremely  silent 
of  the  great  men  of  action  that  the  world  can 
show.  Like  Cromwell  and  Frederic,  Washington 
wrote  countless  letters,  made  many  speeches,  and 
was  agreeable  in  conversation.  But  this  was  all 
in  the  way  of  business,  and  a  man  may  be  pro 
foundly  silent  and  yet  talk  a  great  deal.  Silence 
in  the  fine  and  true  sense  is  neither  mere  holding 
of  the  tongue  nor  an  incapacity  of  expression.  The 
greatly  silent  man  is  he  who  is  not  given  to  words 
for  their  own  s^Jre,  and  who  never  talks  about  him 
self.  Both  Cromwell,  greatest  of  Englishmen,  and 


68  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

the  great  Frederic,  Carlyle's  especial  heroes,  were 
fond  of  talking*  of  themselves.  So  in  still  larger 
measure  was  Napoleon,  and  many  others  of  less  im 
portance.  But  Washington  differs  from  them  all. 
He  had  abundant  power  of  words,  and  could  use 
them  with  much  force  and  point  when  he  was  so 
minded,  but  he  never  used  them  needlessly  or  to 
hide  his  meaning,  and  he  never  talked  about  him 
self.  Hence  the  inestimable  difficulty  of  knowing 
him.  A  brief  sentence  here  and  there,  a  rare 
gleam  of  light  across  the  page  of  a  letter,  is  all 
that  we  can  find.  The  rest  is  silence.  He  did  as 
great  work  as  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  man,  he  wrote 
volumes  of  correspondence,  he  talked  with  innumer 
able  men  and  women,  and  of  himself  he  said  noth 
ing.  Here  in  this  youthful  journal  we  have  a 
narrative  of  wild  adventure,  wily  diplomacy,  and 
personal  peril,  impossible  of  condensation,  and  yet 
not  a  word  of  the  writer's  thoughts  or  feelings. 
All  that  was  done  or  said  important  to  the  business 
in  hand  was  set  down,  and  nothing  was  overlooked, 
but  that  is  all.  The  work  was  done,  and  we  know 
how  it  was  done,  but  the  man  is  silent  as  to  all 
else.  Here,  indeed,  is  the  man  of  action  and  of  real 
silence,  a  character  to  be  much  admired  and  won 
dered  at  in  these  or  any  other  days. 

Washington's  report  looked  like  war.  and  its  au 
thor  was  shortly  afterwards  appointed  lieutenant- 
colonel  of  a  Virginian  regiment,  Colonel  Fry  com 
manding.  Now  began  that  long  experience  of 
human  stupidity  and  inefficiency  with  which  Wash- 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  t>9 

ington  was  destined  to  struggle  through  all  the 
years  of  his  military  career,  suffering  from  them, 
and  triumphing  in  spite  of  them  to  a  degree  un 
equalled  by  any  other  great  commander.  Din- 
widdie,  the  Scotch  governor,  was  eager  enough  to 
fight,  and  full  of  energy  and  good  intentions,  but 
he  was  hasty  and  not  overwise,  and  was  filled  with 
an  excessive  idea  of  his  prerogatives.  The  as 
sembly,  on  its  side,  was  sufficiently  patriotic,  but  its 
members  came  from  a  community  which  for  more 
than  half  a  century  had  had  no  fighting,  and  they 
knew  nothing  of  war  or  its  necessities.  Unaccus 
tomed  to  the  large  affairs  into  which  they  were 
suddenly  plunged,  they  displayed  a  narrow  and 
provincial  spirit.  Keenly  alive  to  their  own  rights 
and  privileges,  they  were  more  occupied  in  quar 
relling  with  Dinwiddie  than  in  prosecuting  the  war. 
In  the  weak  proprietary  governments  of  Maryland 
and  Pennsylvania  there  was  the  same  condition  of 
affairs,  with  every  evil  exaggerated  tenfold.  The 
fighting  spirit  was  dominant  in  Virginia,  but  in 
Quaker-ridden  Pennsylvania  it  seems  to  have  been 
almost  extinct.  These  three  were  not  very  prom 
ising  communities  to  look  to  for  support  in  a  diffi 
cult  and  costly  war. 

With  all  this  inertia  and  stupidity  Washington 
was  called  to  cope,  and  he  rebelled  against  it  in 
vigorous  fashion.  Leaving  Colonel  Fry  to  follow 
with  the  main  body  of  troops,  Washington  set  out 
on  April  2,  1754,  with  two  companies  from  Alex 
andria,  where  he  had  been  recruiting  amidst  most 


70  GEORGE  WASHINGTON, 

irritating  difficulties.  He  reached  Will's  Creek 
three  weeks  later ;  and  then  his  real  troubles  began. 
Captain  Trent,  the  timid  and  halting  envoy,  who 
had  failed  to  reach  the  French,  had  been  sent  out 
by  the  wise  authorities  to  build  a  fort  at  the  junc 
tion  of  the  Alleghany  and  Monongahela,  on  the 
admirable  site  selected  by  the  keen  eye  of  Wash 
ington.  There  Trent  left  his  men  and  returned  to 

O 

Will's  Creek,  where  Washington  found  him,  but 
without  the  pack-horses  that  he  had  promised  to 
provide.  Presently  news  came  that  the  French 
in  overwhelming  numbers  had  swept  down  upon 
Trent's  little  party,  captured  their  fort,  and  sent 
them  packing  back  to  Virginia.  Washington  took 
this  to  be  war,  and  determined  at  once  to  march 
against  the  enemy.  Having  impressed  from  the 
inhabitants,  who  were  not  bubbling  over  with  pa 
triotism,  some  horses  and  wagons,  he  set  out  on  his 
toilsome  march  across  the  mountains. 

It  was  a  wild  and  desolate  region,  and  progress 
was  extremely  slow.  By  May  9th  he  was  at  the 
Little  Meadows,  twenty  miles  from  his  starting- 
place  ;  by  the  18th  at  the  Youghiogany  River,  which 
he  explored  and  found  unnavigable.  He  was  there 
fore  forced  to  take  up  his  weary  march  again  for  the 
Monongahela,  and  by  the  27th  he  was  at  the  Great 
Meadows,  a  few  miles  further  on.  The  extreme 
danger  of  his  position  does  not  seem  to  have  oc 
curred  to  him,  but  he  was  harassed  and  angered  by 
the  conduct  of  the  assembly.  He  wrote  to  Governor 
Dinwiddie  that  he  had  no  idea  of  giving  up  his 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  71 

commission.  "  But,"  he  continued,  "  let  me  serve 
voluntarily ;  then  I  will,  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  life,  devote  my  services  to  the  expedition,  with 
out  any  other  reward  than  the  satisfaction  of  serv 
ing  my  country ;  but  to  be  slaving  dangerously  for 
the  shadow  of  pay,  through  woods,  rocks,,  moun 
tains,  —  I  would  rather  prefer  the  great  toil  of  a 
daily  laborer,  and  dig  for  a  maintenance,  provided 
I  were  reduced  to  the  necessity,  than  serve  upon 
such  ignoble  terms ;  for  I  really  do  not  see  why 
the  lives  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  in  Virginia  should 
be  of  less  value  than  those  in  other  parts  of  his 
American  dominions,  especially  when  it  is  well 
known  that  we  must  undergo  double  their  hard 
ship."  Here  we  have  a  high-spirited,  high-tem 
pered  young  gentleman,  with  a  contempt  for  shams 
that  it  is  pleasant  to  see,  and  evidently  endowed 
also  with  a  fine  taste  for  fighting  and  not  too  much 
patience. 

•'Indignant  letters  written  in  vigorous  language 
were,  however,  of  little  avail,  and  Washington 
prepared  to  shift  for  himself  as  best  he  might.  His 
Indian  allies  brought  him  news  that  the  French 
were  on  the  march  and  had  thrown  out  scouting 
parties.  Picking  out  a  place  in  the  Great  Meadows 
for  a  fort,  "  a  charming  field  for  an  encounter,"  he 
in  his  turn  sent  out  a  scouting  party,  and  then  on 
fresh  intelligence  from  the  Indians  set  forth  him 
self  with  forty  men  to  find  the  enemy.  After  a 
toilsome  march  they  discovered  their  foes  in  camp. 
The  French,  surprised  and  surrounded,  sprang  to 


72  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

arms,  the  Virginians  fired,  there  was  a  sharp  ex 
change  of  shots,  and  all  was  over.  Ten  of  the 
French  were  killed  and  twenty-one  were  taken  pris 
oners,  only  one  of  the  party  escaping  to  carry  back 
the  news. 

This  little  skirmish  made  a  prodigious  noise  in 
its  day,  and  was  much  heralded  in  France.  The 
French  declared  that  Jumonville,  the  leader,  who 
fell  at  the  first  fire,  was  foully  assassinated,  and 
that  he  and  his  party  were  ambassadors  and  sacred 
characters.  Paris  rang  with  this  fresh  instance  of 
British  perfidy,  and  a  M.  Thomas  celebrated  the 
luckless  Jumonville  in  a  solemn  epic  poem  in  four 
books.  French  historians,  relying  on  the  account 
of  the  Canadian  who  escaped,  adopted  the  same 
tone,  and  at  a  later  day  mourned  over  this  black 
spot  on  Washington's  character.  The  French  view 
was  simple  nonsense.  Jumonville  and  his  party, 
as  the  papers  found  on  Jumonville  showed,  were 
out  on  a  spying  and  scouting  expedition.  They 
were  seeking  to  surprise  the  English  when  the  Eng 
lish  surprised  them,  with  the  usual  backwoods  re 
sult.  The  affair  has  a  dramatic  interest  because 
it  was  the  first  blood  shed  in  a  great  struggle,  and 
was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  world-wide  wars 
and  social  and  political  convulsions,  which  termi 
nated  more  than  half  a  century  later  on  the  plains 
of  Waterloo.  It  gave  immortality  to  an  obscure 
French  officer  by  linking  his  name  with  that  of  his 
opponent,  and  brought  Washington  for  the  moment 
before  the  eyes  of  the  world,  which  little  dreamed 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  73 

that  this  Virginian  colonel  was  destined  to  be  one 
of  the  principal  figures  in  the  great  revolutionary 
drama  to  which  the  war  then  beginning  was  but 
the  prologue. 

Washington,  well  satisfied  with  his  exploit,  re 
traced  his  steps,  and  having  sent  his  prisoners  back 
to  Virginia,  proceeded  to  consider  his  situation. 
It  was  not  a  very  cheerful  prospect.  Contrecceur, 
with  the  main  body  of  the  French  and  Indians,  was 
moving  down  from  the  Monongahela  a  thousand 
strong.  This  of  course  was  to  have  been  anticipated, 
and  it  does  not  seem  to  have  in  the  least  damped 
Washington's  spirits.  His  blood  was  up,  his  fight 
ing  temper  thoroughly  roused,  and  he  prepared  to 
push  on.  Colonel  Fry  had  died  meanwhile,  leav 
ing  Washington  in  command  ;  but  his  troops  came 
forward,  and  also  not  long  after  a  useless  "  inde 
pendent  "  company  from  South  Carolina.  Thus  re 
inforced  Washington  advanced  painfully  some  thir 
teen  miles,  and  then  receiving  sure  intelligence  of 
the  approach  of  the  French  in  great  force  fell  back 
with  difficulty  to  the  Great  Meadows,  where  he  was 
obliged  by  the  exhausted  condition  of  his  men  to 
stop.  He  at  once  resumed  work  on  Fort  Necessity, 
and  made  ready  for  a  desperate  defence,  for  the 
French  were  011  his  heels,  and  on  July  3d  appeared 
at  the  Meadows.  Washington  offered  battle  out 
side  the  fort,  and  this  being  declined  withdrew  to 
his  trenches,  and  skirmishing  went  on  all  day. 
When  night  fell  it  was  apparent  that  the  end  had 
come.  The  men  were  starved  and  worn-out.  Their 


74  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

muskets  in  many  cases  were  rendered  useless  by 
the  rain,  and  their  ammunition  was  spent.  The 
Indians  had  deserted,  and  the  foe  outnumbered 
them  four  to  one.  When  the  French  therefore  of 
fered  a  parley,  Washington  was  forced  reluctantly 
to  accept.  The  French  had  110  stomach  for  the 
fight,  apparently,  and  allowed  the  English  to  go 
with  their  arms,"  exacting  nothing  but  a  pledge  that 
for  a  year  they  would  not  come  to  the  Ohio. 

So  ended  Washington's  first  campaign.  His 
friend  the  Half-King,  the  celebrated  Seneca  chief, 
Thanacarishon,  who  prudently  departed  on  the  ar 
rival  of  the  French,  has  left  us  a  candid  opinion 
of  Washington  and  his  opponents.  "  The  colonel," 
he  said,  "  was  a  good-natured  man,  but  had  no 
experience  ;  he  took  upon  him  to  command  the 
Indians  as  his  slaves,  and  would  have  them  every 
day  upon  the  scout  and  to  attack  the  enemy  by 
themselves,  but  would  by  no  means  take  advice 
from  the  Indians.  He  lay  in  one  place  from  one 
full  moon  to  the  other,  without  making  any  forti 
fications,  except  that  little  thing  on  the  meadow  ; 
whereas,  had  he  taken  advice,  and  built  such  forti 
fications  as  I  advised  him,  he  might  easity  have 
beat  off  the  French.  But  the  French  in  the  en 
gagement  acted  like  cowards,  and  the  English  like 
fools."  i 

There  is  a  deal  of  truth  in  thh  opinion.     The 

1  Enquiry  into  the  Causes  and  Alienations  of  the  Delaivare  and 
Shawanee  Indians,  etc.  London,  1759.  By  Charles  Thomson, 
afterwards  Secretary  of  Congress. 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  75 

whole  expedition  was  rash  in  the  extreme.  When 
Washington  left  Will's  Creek  he  was  aware  that 
he  was  going  to  meet  a  force  of  a  thousand  men 
with  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  raw  recruits  at  his 
back.  In  the  same  spirit  he  pushed  on  ;  and  after 
the  Jumonville  affair,  although  he  knew  that  the 
wilderness  about  him  was  swarming  with  enemies, 
he  still  struggled  forward.  When  forced  to  retreat 
he  made  a  stand  at  the  Meadows  and  offered  bat 
tle  in  the  open1  to  his  more  numerous  and  more 
prudent  foes,  for  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  by 
nature  regard  courage  as  a  substitute  for  everything, 
and  who  have  a  contempt  for  hostile  odds.  He  was 
ready  to  meet  any  number  of  French  and  Indians 
with  cheerful  confidence  and  with  real  pleasure. 
He  wrote,  in  a  letter  which  soon  became  famous, 
that  he  loved  to  hear  bullets  whistle,  a  sage  obser 
vation  which  he  set  down  in  later  years  as  a  folly 
of  youth.  Yet  this  boyish  outburst,  foolish  as  it 
was,  has  a  meaning  to  us,  for  it  was  essentially 
true.  Washington  had  the  fierce  fighting  temper 
of  the  Northmen.  He  loved  battle  and  danger,  and 
he  never  ceased  to  love  them  and  to  give  way  to 
their  excitement,  although  he  did  not  again  set 
down  such  sentiments  in  boastful  phrase  that  made 
the  world  laugh.  Men  of  such  temper,  moreover, 
are  naturally  imperious  and  have  a  fine  disregard 
of  consequences,  with  the  result  that  their  allies, 
Indian  or  otherwise,  often  become  impatient  and 
finally  useless.  The  campaign  was  perfectly  wild 
from  the  outset,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  utter 


76  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

indifference  to  danger  displayed  by  Washington, 
and  the  consequent  timidity  of  the  French,  that 
particular  body  of  Virginians  would  have  been  per 
manently  lost  to  the  British  Empire. 

But  we  learn  from  all  this  many  things.  It  ap 
pears  that  Washington  was  not  merely  a  brave  man, 
but  one  who  loved  fighting  for  its  own  sake.  The 
whole  expedition  shows  an  arbitrary  temper  and 
the  most  reckless  courage,  valuable  qualities,  but 
here  unrestrained,  and  mixed  with  very  little  pru 
dence.  Some  important  lessons  were  learned  by 
Washington  from  the  rough  teachings  of  inexora 
ble  and  unconquerable  facts.  He  received  in  this 
campaign  the  first  taste  of  that  severe  experience 
which  by  its  training  developed  the  self-control  and 
mastery  of  temper  for  which  he  became  so  remark 
able.  He  did  not  spring  into  life  a  perfect  and 
impossible  man,  as  is  so  often  represented.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  educated  by  circumstances ;  but  the 
metal  came  out  of  the  furnace  of  experience  finely 
tempered,  because  it  was  by  nature  of  the  best  and 
with  but  little  dross  to  be  purged  away.  In  addi 
tion  to  all  this  he  acquired  for  the  moment  what 
would  now  be  called  a  European  reputation.  He 
was  known  in  Paris  as  an  assassin,  and  in  Eng 
land,  thanks  to  the  bullet  letter,  as  a  "fanfaron  " 
and  brave  braggart.  With  these  results  he  wended 
his  way  home  much  depressed  in  spirits,  but  not  in 
the  least  discouraged,  and  fonder  of  fighting  than 
ever. 

Virginia,  however,   took  a  kinder  view  of  the 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  77 

campaign  than  did  her  defeated  soldier.  She  ap 
preciated  the  gallantry  of  the  offer  to  fight  in  the 
open  and  the  general  conduct  of  the  troops,  and 
her  House  of  Burgesses  passed  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
Washington  and  his  officers,  and  gave  money  to 
his  men.  In  August  he  rejoined  his  regiment,  and 
renewed  the  vain  struggle  against  incompetence  and 
extravagance,  and  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  his 
sense  of  honor  was  wounded  and  his  temper  much 
irritated  by  the  governor's  playing  false  to  the 
prisoners  taken  in  the  Jumonville  fight.  While 
thus  engaged,  news  came  that  the  French  were  off 
their  guard  at  Fort  Duquesne,  and  Dinwiddie  was 
for  having  the  regiment  of  undisciplined  troops 
march  again  into  the  wilderness.  Washington, 
however,  had  learned  something,  if  not  a  great  deal, 
and  he  demonstrated  the  folly  of  such  an  attempt 
in  a  manner  too  clear  to  be  confuted. 

Meantime  the  Burgesses  came  together,  and  more 
money  being  voted,  Dinwiddie  hit  on  a  notable  plan 
for  quieting  dissensions  between  regulars  and  pro 
vincials  by  dividing  all  the  troops  into  independent 
companies,  with  no  officer  higher  than  a  captain. 
Washington,  the  only  officer  who  had  seen  fighting 
and  led  the  regiment,  resented  this  senseless  policy, 
and  resigning  his  commission  withdrew  to  Mount 
Vernon  to  manage  the  estate  and  attend  to  his  own 
affairs.  He  was  driven  to  this  course  still  more 
strongly  by  the  original  cause  of  Dinwiddie's  ar 
rangement.  The  English  government  had  issued 
an  order  that  officers  holding  the  king's  commis- 


78  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

sion  should  rank  provincial  officers,  and  that  pro 
vincial  generals  and  field  officers  should  have  no 
rank  when  a  general  or  field  officer  holding  a  royal 
commission  was  present.  The  degradation  of  being 
ranked  by  every  whipper-snapper  who  might  hold 
a  royal  commission  by  virtue,  perhaps,  of  being  the 
bastard  son  of  some  nobleman's  cast-off  mistress 
was  more  than  the  temper  of  George  Washington 
could  bear,  and  when  Governor  Sharpe,  general  by 
the  king's  commission,  and  eager  to  secure  the  ser 
vices  of  the  best  fighter  in  Virginia,  offered  him  a 
company  and  urged  his  acceptance,  he  replied  in 
language  that  must  have  somewhat  astonished  his 
excellency.  "  You  make  mention  in  your  letter," 
he  wrote  to  Colonel  Fitzhugh,  Governor  Sharpe's 
second  in  command,  "  of  my  continuing  in  the  ser 
vice,  and  retaining  my  colonel's  commission.  This 
idea  has  filled  rne  with  surprise  ;  for,  if  you  think 
me  capable  of  holding  a  commission  that  has  nei 
ther  rank  nor  emolument  annexed  to  it,  you  must 
entertain  a  very  contemptible  opinion  of  my  weak 
ness,  and  believe  me  to  be  more  empty  than  the 
commission  itself.  ...  In  short  every  captain, 
bearing  the  king's  commission,  every  half-pay  offi 
cer,  or  others  appearing  with  such  a  commission, 
would  rank  before  me.  .  .  .  Yet  my  inclinations 
are  strongly  bent  to  arms." 

It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  withdraw  from 
military  life,  but  Washington  had  an  intense  sense 
of  personal  dignity ;  not  the  small  vanity  of  a  petty 
mind,  but  the  quality  of  a  proud  man  conscious  of 


ON   THE  FRONTIER.  79 

his  own  strength  and  purpose.  It  was  of  immense 
value  to  the  American  people  at  a  later  day,  and 
there  is  something  very  instructive  in  this  early  re 
volt  against  the  stupid  arrogance  which  England 
has  always  thought  it  wise  to  display  toward  this 
country.  She  has  paid  dearly  for  indulging  it,  but 
it  has  seldom  cost  her  -more  than  when  it  drove 
Washington  from  her  service,  and  left  in  his  mind 
a  sense  of  indignity  and  injustice. 

Meantime  this  Virginian  campaigning  had  started 
a  great  movement.  England  was  aroused,  and  it 
was  determined  to  assail  France  in  Nova  Scotia, 
from  New  York  and  on  the  Ohio.  In  accordance 
with  this  plan  General  Braddock  arrived  in  Virginia 
February  20,  1755,  with  two  picked  regiments,  and 
encamped  at  Alexandria.  Thither  Washington  used 
to  ride  and  look  longingly  at  the  pomp  and  glitter, 
and  wish  that  he  were  engaged  in  the  service. 
Presently  this  became  known,  and  Braddock,  hear 
ing  of  the  young  Virginian's  past  experience,  offered 
him  a  place  on  his  staff  with  the  rank  of  colonel 
where  he  would  be  subject  only  to  the  orders  of  the 
general,  and  could  serve  as  a  volunteer.  He  there 
fore  accepted  at  once,  and  threw  himself  into  his 
new  duties  with  hearty  good-will.  Every  step  was 
full  of  instruction.  At  Annapolis  he  met  the  gov 
ernors  of  the  other  colonies,  and  was  interested  and 
attracted  by  this  association  with  distinguished  pub 
lic  men.  In  the  army  to  which  he.  was  attached 
he  studied  with  the  deepest  attention  the  best  dis 
cipline  of  Europe,  observing  everything  and  forget- 


80  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ting  nothing,  thus  preparing  himself  unconsciously 
to  use  against  his  teachers  the  knowledge  he  ac 
quired. 

He  also  made  warm  friends  with  the  English 
officers,  and  was  treated  with  consideration  by  his 
commander.  The  universal  practice  of  all  English 
men  was  to  behave  contemptuously  to  the  colonists, 
but  there  was  something  about  Washington  which 
made  this  impossible.  They  all  treated  him  with 
the  utmost  courtesy,  vaguely  conscious  that  beneath 
the  pleasant,  quiet  manner  there  was  a  strength  of 
character  and  ability  such  as  is  rarely  found,  and 
that  this  was  a  man  whom  it  was  unsafe  to  affront. 
There  is  110  stronger  instance  of  Washington's 
power  of  impressing  himself  upon  others  than  that 
he  commanded  now  the  respect  and  affection  of  his 
general,  who  was  the  last  man  to  be  easily  or  favor 
ably  affected  by  a  young  provincial  officer. 

Edward  Braddock  was  a  veteran  soldier,  a  skilled 
disciplinarian,  and  a  rigid  martinet.  He  was  nar 
row-minded,  brutal,  and  brave.  He  had  led  a  fast 
life  in  society,  indulging  in  coarse  and  violent  dis 
sipations,  and  was  proud  with  the  intense  pride  of 
a  limited  intelligence  and  a  nature  incapable  of 
physical  fear.  It  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of 
a  man  more  unfit  to  be  entrusted  with  the  task  of 
marching  through  the  wilderness  and  sweeping  the 
French  from  the  Ohio.  All  the  conditions  which 
confronted  him  were  unfamiliar  and  beyond  his  ex 
perience.  He  cordially  despised  the  provincials  who 
were  essential  to  his  success,  and  lost  no  opportunity 


ON   THE  FRONTIER.  81 

of  showing  his  contempt  for  them.  The  colonists 
on  their  side,  especially  in  Pennsylvania,  gave  him, 
unfortunately,  only  too  much  ground  for  irritation 
and  disgust.  They  were  delighted  to  see  this  bril 
liant  force  come  from  England  to  fight  their  battles, 
but  they  kept  on  wrangling  and  holding  back,  refus 
ing  money  and  supplies,  and  doing  nothing.  Brad- 
dock  chafed  and  delayed,  swore  angrily,  and  lingered 
still.  Washington  strove  to  help  him,  but  de 
fended  his  country  fearlessly  against  wholesale  and 
furious  attacks. 

Finally  the  army  began  to  move,  but  so  slowly 
and  after  so  much  delay  that  they  did  not  reach 
Will's  Creek  until  the  middle  of  May.  Here  came 
another  exasperating  pause,  relieved  only  by  Frank 
lin,  who  by  giving  his  own  time,  ability,  and  money, 
supplied  the  necessary  wagons.  Then  they  pushed 
on  again,  but  with  the  utmost  slowness.  With  su 
preme  difficulty  they  made  an  elaborate  road  over 
the  mountains  as  they  marched,  and  did  not  reach 
the  Little  Meadows  until  June  16th.  Then  at  last 
Braddock  turned  to  his  young  aide  for  the  counsel 
which  had  already  been  proffered  and  rejected  many 
times.  Washington  advised  the  division  of  the 
army,  so  that  the  main  body  could  hurry  forward  in 
light  marching  order  while  a  detachment  remained 
behind  and  brought  up  the  heavy  baggage.  This 
plan  was  adopted,  and  the  army  started  forward, 
still  too  heavily  burdened,  as  Washington  thought, 
but  in  somewhat  better  trim  for  the  wilderness 
than  before.  Their  progress,  quickened  as  it  was, 


82  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

still  seemed  slow  to  Washington,  but  he  was  taken 
ill  with  a  fever,  and  finally  was  compelled  by  Brad- 
dock  to  stop  for  rest  at  the  ford  of  Youghiogaiiy. 
He  made  Braddock  promise  that  he  should  be 
brought  up  before  the  army  reached  Fort  Duquesne, 
and  wrote  to  his  friend  Orme  that  he  would  not 
miss  the  impending  battle  for  five  hundred  pounds. 

As  soon  as  his  fever  abated  a  little  he  left  Col 
onel  Dunbar,  and,  being  unable  to  sit  on  a  horse, 
was  conveyed  to  the  front  in  a  wagon,  coming  up 
with  the  army  on  July  8th.  He  was  just  in  time, 
for  the  next  day  the  troops  forded  the  Monongahela 
and  marched  to  attack  the  fort.  The  splendid  ap 
pearance  of  the  soldiers  as  they  crossed  the  river 
roused  Washington's  enthusiasm ;  but  he  was  not 
without  misgivings.  Franklin  had  already  warned 
Braddock  against  the  danger  of  surprise,  and  had 
been  told  with  a  sneer  that  while  these  savages 
might  be  a  formidable  enemy  to  raw  American 
militia,  they  could  make  no  impression  on  disciplined 
troops.  Now  at  the  last  moment  Washington 
warned  the  general  again  and  was  angrily  rebuked. 

The  troops  marched  on  in  ordered  ranks,  glitter 
ing  and  beautiful.  Suddenly  firing  was  heard  in 
the  front,  and  presently  the  van  was  flung  back  on 
the  main  body.  Yells  and  war-whoops  resounded 
on  every  side,  and  an  unseen  enemy  poured  in  a 
deadly  fire.  Washington  begged  Braddock  to 
throw  his  men  into  the  woods,  but  all  in  vain. 
Fight  in  platoons  they  must,  or  not  at  all.  The 
result  was  that  they  did  not  fight  at  all.  They 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  83 

became  panic-stricken,  and  huddled  together,  over 
come  with  fear,  until  at  last  when  Braddock  was 
mortally  wounded  they  broke  in  wild  rout  and  fled. 
-Of  the  regular  troops,  seven  hundred,  and  of  the 
officers,  who  showed  the  utmost  bravery,  sixty-two 
out  of  eighty-six,  were  killed  or  wounded.  Two 
hundred  Frenchmen  and  six  hundred  Indians 
achieved  this  signal  victory.  The  only  thing  that 
could  be  called  fighting  on  the  English  side  was 
done  by  the  Virginians,  "  the  raw  American  mili 
tia,"  who,  spread  out  as  skirmishers,  met  their  foes 
on  their  own  ground,  and  were  cut  off  almost  to  a 
man. 

Washington  at  the  outset  flung  himself  head 
long  into  the  fight.  He  rode  up  and  down  the  field, 
carrying  orders  and  striving  to  rally  "  the  das 
tards,"  as  he  afterwards  called  the  regular  troops. 
Pie  endeavored  to  bring  up  the  artillery,  but  the 
men  would  not  serve  the  guns,  although  he  aimed 
and  discharged  one  himself.  All  through  that 
dreadful  carnage  he  rode  fiercely  about,  raging 
with  the  excitement  of  battle,  and  utterly  exposed 
from  beginning  to  end.  Even  now  it  makes  the 
heart  beat  quicker  to  think  of  him  amid  the  smoke 
and  slaughter  as  he  dashed  hither  and  thither, 
his  face  glowing  and  his  eyes  shining  with  the 
fierce  light  of  battle,  leading  on  his  own  Virgin 
ians,  and  trying  to  stay  the  tide  of  disaster.  He 
had  two  horses  shot  under  him  and  four  bullets 
through  his  coat.  The  Indians  thought  he  bore  a 
charmed  life,  while  his  death  was  reported  in  the 


84  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

colonies,  together  with  his  dying  speech,  which,  he 
dryly  wrote  to  his  brother,  he  had  not  yet  com 
posed. 

When  the  troops  broke  it  was  Washington  who 
gathered  the  fugitives  and  brought  off  the  dying 
general.  It  was  he  who  rode  on  to  meet  Dunbar, 
and  rallying  the  fugitives  enabled  the  wretched 
remnants  to  take  up  their  march  for  the  settle 
ments.  He  it  was  who  laid  Braddock  in  the  grave 
four  days  after  the  defeat,  and  read  over  the  dead 
the  solemn  words  of  the  English  service.  Wise, 
sensible,  and  active  in  the  advance,  splendidly 
reckless  on  the  day  of  battle,  cool  and  collected 
on  the  retreat,  Washington  alone  emerged  from 
that  history  of  disaster  with  added  glory.  Again 
he  comes  before  us  as,  above  all  things,  the  fighting 
man,  hot-blooded  and  fierce  in  action,  and  utterly 
indifferent  to  the  danger  which  excited  and  de 
lighted  him.  But  the  earlier  lesson  had  not  been 
useless.  He  showed  a  prudence  and  wisdom  in 
counsel  which  were  not  apparent  in  the  first  of  his 
campaigns,  and  he  no  longer  thought  that  courage 
was  all-sufficient,  or  that  any  enemy  could  be  de 
spised.  He  was  plainly  one  of  those  who  could 
learn.  His  first  experience  had  borne  good  fruit, 
and  now  he  had  been  taught  a  series  of  fresh  and 
valuable  lessons.  Before  his  eyes  had  been  dis 
played  the  most  brilliant  European  discipline,  both 
in  camp  and  on  the  march.  He  had  studied  and 
absorbed  it  all,  talking  with  veterans  and  hearing 
from  them  many  things  that  he  could  have  ac- 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  85 

quired  nowhere  else.  Once  more  had  he  been 
taught,  in  a  way  not  to  be  forgotten,  that  it  is  never 
well  to  underrate  one's  opponent.  Pie  had  looked 
deeper,  too,  and  had  seen  what  the  whole  continent 
soon  understood,  that  English  troops  were  not  in 
vincible,  that  they  could  be  beaten  by  Indians,  and 
that  they  were  after  all  much  like  other  men. 
This  was  the  knowledge,  fatal  to  British  suprem 
acy,  which  Braddock's  defeat  brought  to  Washing 
ton  and  to  the  colonists,  and  which  was  never  for 
gotten.  Could  he  have  looked  into  the  future,  he 
would  have  seen  also  in  this  ill-fated  expedition  an 
epitome  of  much  future  history.  The  expedition 
began  with  stupid  contempt  toward  America  and 
all  things  American,  and  ended  in  ruin  and  defeat. 
It  was  a  bitter  experience,  much  heeded  by  the 
colonists,  but  disregarded  by  England,  whose  indif 
ference  was  paid  for  at  a  heavy  cost. 

After  the  hasty  retreat,  Colonel  Dunbar,  stricken 
with  panic,  fled  onward  to  Philadelphia,  abandon 
ing  everything,  and  Virginia  was  left  naturally  in 
a  state  of  great  alarm.  The  assembly  came  to 
gether,  and  at  last,  thoroughly  frightened,  voted 
abundant  money,  and  ordered  a  regiment  of  a  thou 
sand  men  to  be  raised.  Washington,  who  had  re 
turned  to  Mount  Vernon  ill  and  worn-out,  was 
urged  to  solicit  the  command,  but  it  was  not  his 
way  to  solicit,  and  he  declined  to  do  so  now.  Au 
gust  14th,  he  wrote  to  his  mother :  "  If  it  is  in  my 
power  to  avoid  going  to  the  Ohio  again,  I  shall ; 
but  if  the  command  is  pressed  upon  me  by  the 


86  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

general  voice  of  the  country,  and  offered  upon  such 
terms  as  cannot  be  objected  against,  it  would  re 
flect  dishonor  on  me  to  refuse  it."  The  same  day 
he  was  offered  the  command  of  all  the  Virginian 
forces  on  his  own  terms,  and  accepted.  Virginia 
believed  in  Washington,  and  he  was  ready  to  obey 
her  call. 

He  at  once  assumed  command  and  betook  him 
self  to  Winchester,  a  general  without  an  army, 
but  still  able  to  check  by  his  presence  the  existing 
panic,  and  ready  to  enter  upon  the  trying,  dreary, 
and  fruitless  work  that  lay  before  him.  In  April, 
1757,  he  wrote :  "  I  have  been  posted  then,  for 
more  than  twenty  months  past,  upon  our  cold  and 
barren  frontiers,  to  perform,  I  think  I  may  say, 
impossibilities ;  that  is,  to  protect  from  the  cruel 
incursions  of  a  crafty,  savage  enemy  a  line  of  in 
habitants,  of  more  than  three  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  in  extent,  with  a  force  inadequate  to  the 
task."  This  terse  statement  covers  all  that  can 
be  said  of  the  next  three  years.  It  was  a  long 
struggle  against  a  savage  foe  in  front,  and  narrow 
ness,  jealousy,  and  stupidity  behind ;  apparently 
without  any  chance  of  effecting  anything,  or  gain 
ing  any  glory  or  reward.  Troops  were  voted,  but 
were  raised  with  difficulty,  and  when  raised  were 
neglected  and  ill-treated  by  the  wrangling  gov 
ernor  and  assembly,  which  caused  much  ill-sup 
pressed  wrath  in  the  breast  of  the  commander-in- 
chief  who  labored  day  and  night  to  bring  about 
better  discipline  in  camp,  and  who  wrote  long  let- 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  87 

ters  to  Williamsburg  recounting  existing  evils  and 
praying  for  a  new  .militia  law. 

The  troops,  in  fact,  were  got  out  with  vast  diffi 
culty  even  under  the  most  stinging  necessity,  and 
were  almost  worthless  when  they  came.  Of  one 
"  noble  captain  "  who  refused  to  come,  Washington 
wrote  :  "  With  coolness  and  moderation  this  great 
captain  answered  that  his  wife,  family,  and  corn 
were  all  at  stake  ;  so  were  those  of  his  soldiers ; 
therefore  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  come.  Such 
is  the  example  of  the  officers ;  such  the  behavior  of 
the  men ;  and  upon  such  circumstances  depends 
the  safety  of  our  country !  "  But  while  the  soldiers 
were  neglected,  and  the  assembly  faltered,  and  the 
militia  disobeyed,  the  French  and  Indians  kept  at 
work  on  the  long,  exposed  frontier.  There  panic 
reigned,  and  farmhouses  and  villages  went  up  in 
smoke,  and  the  fields  were  reddened  with  slaughter 
at  each  fresh  incursion.  Gentlemen  in  Williams- 
burg  bore  these  misfortunes  with  reasonable  for 
titude,  but  Washington  raged  against  the  abuses 
and  the  inaction,  and  vowed  that  nothing  but  the 
imminent  danger  prevented  his  resignation.  "  The 
supplicating  tears  of  the  women,"  he  wrote,  "  and 
moving  petitions  of  the  men  melt  me  into  such 
deadly  sorrow  that  I  solemnly  declare,  if  I  know 
my  own  mind,  I  could  offer  myself  a  willing  sacri 
fice  to  the  butchering  enemy,  provided  that  would 
contribute  to  the  people's  ease."  This  is  one  of 
the  rare  flashes  of  personal  feeling  which  disclose 
the  real  man,  warm  of  heart  and  temper,  full  of 


88  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

human  sympathy,  and  giving  vent  to  hot  indig 
nation  in  words  which  still  ring  clear  and  strong 
across  the  century  that  has  come  and  gone. 

Serious  troubles,  moreover,  were  complicated  by 
petty  annoyances.  A  Maryland  captain,  at  the 
head  of  thirty  men,  undertook  to  claim  rank  over 
the  Virginian  commander-in-chief  because  he  had 
held  a  king's  commission  ;  and  Washington  was 
obliged  to  travel  to  Boston  in  order  to  have  the 
miserable  thing  set  right  by  Governor  Shirley. 
This  affair  settled,  he  returned  to  take  up  again 
the  old  disheartening  struggle,  and  his  outspoken 
condemnation  of  Dinwiddie's  foolish  schemes  and 
of  the  shortcomings  of  the  government  began  to 
raise  up  backbiters  and  malcontents  at  Williams- 
burg.  "  My  orders,"  he  said,  "  are  dark,  doubt 
ful,  and  uncertain ;  to-day  approved,  to-morrow 
condemned.  Left  to  act  and  proceed  at  hazard, 
accountable  for  the  consequences,  and  blamed  with 
out  the  benefit  of  defence."  He  determined  never 
theless  to  bear  with  his  trials  until  the  arrival  of 
Lord  Loudon,  the  new  commander-in-chief,  from 
whom  he  expected  vigor  and  improvement.  Un 
fortunately  he  was  destined  to  have  only  fresh 
disappointment  from  the  new  general,  for  Lord 
Loudon  was  merely  one  more  incompetent  man 
added  to  the  existing  confusion.  He  paid  no  heed 
to  the  South,  matters  continued  to  go  badly  in  the 
North,  and  Virginia  was  left  helpless.  So  Washing 
ton  toiled  on  with  much  discouragement,  and  the 
disagreeable  attacks  upon  him  increased.  That  it 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  89 

should  have  been  so  is  not  surprising,  for  he  wrote 
to  the  governor,  who  now  held  him  in  much  dis 
favor,  to  the  speaker,  and  indeed  to  every  one,  with 
a  most  galling  plainness.  He  was  only  twenty-five, 
be  it  remembered,  and  his  high  temper  was  by  no 
means  under  perfect  control.  He  was  anything  but 
diplomatic  at  that  period  of  his  life,  and  was  far 
from  patient,  using  language  with  much  sincerity 
and  force,  and  indulging  in  a  blunt  irony  of  rather 
a  ferocious  kind.  When  he  was  accused  finally  of 
getting  up  reports  of  imaginary  dangers,  his  tem 
per  gave  way  entirely.  He  wrote  wrathfully  to 
the  governor  for  justice,  and  added  in  a  letter  to 
his  friend,  Captain  Peachey :  "  As  to  Colonel  C.'s 
gross  and  infamous  reflections  on  my  conduct  last 
spring,  it  will  be  needless,  I  dare  say,  to  observe 
further  at  this  time  than  that  the  liberty  which 
he  has  been  pleased  to  allow  himself  in  sporting 
with  my  character  is  little  else  than  a  comic  en 
tertainment,  discovering  at  one  view  his  passionate 
fondness  for  your  friend,  his  inviolable  love  of 
truth,  his  unfathomable  knowledge,  and  the  mas 
terly  strokes  of  his  wisdom  in  displaying  it.  You 
are  heartily  welcome  to  make  use  of  any  letter  or 
letters  which  I  may  at  any  time  have  written  to 
you ;  for  although  I  keep  no  copies  of  epistles  to 
my  friends,  nor  can  remember  the  contents  of  all 
of  them,  yet  I  am  sensible  that  the  narrations  are 
just,  and  that  truth  and  honesty  will  appear  in 
my  writings;  of  which,  therefore,  I  shall  not  be 
ashamed,  though  criticism  may  censure  my  style." 


90  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Perhaps  a  little  more  patience  would  have  pro 
duced  better  results,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  find  one 
man,  in  that  period  of  stupidity  and  incompetency, 
who  was  ready  to  free  his  mind  in  this  refreshing 
way.  The  only  wonder  is  that  he  was  not  driven 
from  his  command.  That  they  insisted  on  keep 
ing  him  there  shows  beyond  everything  that  he  had 
already  impressed  himself  so  strongly  on  Virginia 
that  the  authorities,  although  they  smarted  under 
his  attacks,  did  not  dare  to  meddle  with  him.  Din- 
widdie  and  the  rest  could  foil  him  in  obtaining  a 
commission  in  the  king's  army,  but  they  could  not 
shake  his  hold  upon  the  people. 

In  the  winter  of  1758  his  health  broke  down 
completely.  He  was  so  ill  that  he  thought  that  his 
constitution  was  seriously  injured  ;  and  therefore 
withdrew  to  Mount  Yernon,  where  he  slowly  re 
covered.  Meantime  a  great  man  came  at  last  to 
the  head  of  affairs  in  England,  and,  inspired  by 
William  Pitt,  fleets  and  armies  went  forth  to  con 
quer.  Reviving  at  the  prospect,  Washington  of 
fered  his  services  to  General  Forbes,  who  had  come 
to  undertake  the  task  which  Braddock  had  failed 
to  accomplish.  Once  more  English  troops  ap 
peared,  and  a  large  army  was  gathered.  Then  the 
old  story  began  again,  and  Washington,  whose  prof 
fered  aid  had  been  gladly  received,  chafed  and 
worried  all  summer  at  the  fresh  spectacle  of  delay 
and  stupidity  which  was  presented  to  him.  His 
advice  was  disregarded,  and  all  the  weary  business 
of  building  new  roads  through  the  wilderness  was 


ON   THE  FRONTIER.  91 

once  more  undertaken.  A  detachment,  sent  for 
ward  contrary  to  .his  views,  met  with  the  fate  of 
Braddock,  and  as  the  summer  passed,  and  autumn 
changed  to  winter,  it  looked  as  if  nothing  would  be 
gained  in  return  for  so  much  toil  and  preparation. 
But  Pitt  had  conquered  the  Ohio  in  Canada,  news 
arrived  of  the  withdrawal  of  the  French,  the  army 
pressed  on,  and,  with  Washington  in  the  van, 
marched  into  the  smoking  ruins  of  Fort  Duquesne, 
henceforth  to  be  known  to  the  world  as  Fort  Pitt. 

So  closed  the  first  period  in  Washington's  pub 
lic  career.  We  have  seen  him  pass  through  it  in 
all  its  phases.  It  shows  him  as  an  adventurous 
pioneer,  as  a  reckless  frontier  fighter,  and  as  a 
soldier  of  great  promise.  He  learned  many  things 
in  this  time,  and  was  taught  much  in  the  hard 
school  of  adversity.  In  the  effort  to  conquer 
Frenchmen  and  Indians  he  studied  the  art  of  war, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  learned  to  bear  with  and 
to  overcome  the  dulness  and  inefficiency  of  the  gov 
ernment  he  served.  Thus  he  was  forced  to  practise 
self-control  in  order  to  attain  his  ends,  and  to  ac 
quire  skill  in  the  management  of  men.  There 
could  have  been  no  better  training  for  the  work  he 
was  to  do  in  the  after  years,  and  the  future  showed 
how  deeply  he  profited  by  it.  Let  us  turn  now, 
for  a  moment,  to  the  softer  and  pleasanter  side 
of  life,  and  having  seen  what  Washington  was, 
and  what  he  did  as  a  fighting  man,  let  us  try  to 
know  him  in  the  equally  important  and  far  more 
attractive  domain  of  private  and  domestic  life. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LOVE   AND   MARRIAGE. 

LEWIS  WILLIS,  of  Fredericksburg,  who  was  at 
school  with  Washington,  used  to  speak  of  him  as 
an  unusually  studious  and  industrious  boy,  but 
recalled  one  occasion  when  he  distinguished  him 
self  and  surprised  his  schoolmates  by  "  romping 
with  one  of  the  largest  girls."  l  Half  a  century 
later,  when  the  days  of  romping  were  long  over 
and  gone,  a  gentleman  writing  of  a  Mrs.  Hartley, 
whom  Washington  much  admired,  said  that  the 
general  always  liked  a  fine  woman.2  It  is  certain 
that  from  romping  he  passed  rapidly  to  more 
serious  forms  of  expressing  regard,  for  by  the  time 
he  was-iaurteen  he  had  fallen  deeply  in  love  with 
Mary  Bland  of  Westmoreland,  whom  he  calls  his 
"  Lowland  Beauty,"  and  to  whom  he  wrote  various 
copies  of  verses,  preserved  amid  the  notes  of  sur 
veys,  in  his  diary  for  1747-48.  The  old  tradi 
tion  identified  the  "  Lowland  Beauty  "  with  Miss 
Grimes,  also  of  Westmoreland,  and  there  are 
drafts  of  letters  addressed  to  "  Dear  Sally,"  which 

1  Quoted  from  the  Willis  MS.  by  Mr.  Conway,  in  Magazine  of 
American  History,  March,  1887,  p.  196. 

2  Magazine  of  American  History,  i.  324. 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  93 

suggest  that  the  mistake  in  identification  might 
have  arisen  from  the  fact  that  there  was  more  than 
one  lady  who  answered  to  that  description.  In  the 
following  sentence  from  the  draft  of  a  letter  to  a 
masculine  sympathizer,  also  preserved  in  the  tell 
tale  diary  of  1748,  there  is  certainly  an  indication 
that  the  constancy  of  the  lover  was  not  perfect. 
"  Dear  Friend  Robin,"  he  wrote :  "  My  place  of 
residence  at  present  is  at  his  Lordship's,  where  I 
might,  were  my  heart  disengaged,  pass  my  time 
very  pleasantly,  as  there  is  a  very  agreeable  young 
lady  in  the  same  house,  Colonel  George  Fairfax's 
wife's  sister.  But  that  only  adds  fuel  to  the  fire, 
as  being  often  and  unavoidably  in  company  with 
her  revives  my  former  passion  for  your  Lowland 
Beauty ;  whereas  were  I  to  live  more  retired  from 
young  women,  I  might  in  some  measure  alleviate 
my  sorrow  by  burying  that  chaste  and  troublesome 
passion  in  oblivion  ;  I  am  very  well  assured  that  this 
will  be  the  only  antidote  or  remedy."  Our  gloomy 
young  gentleman,  however,  did  not  take  to  solitude 
to  cure  the  pangs  of  despised  love,  but  proceeded 
to  calm  his  spirits  by  the  society  of  this  same  sis 
ter-in-law  of  George  Fairfax,  Miss  Mary  Carey. 
The  "  Lowland  Beauty,"  Mary  Bland,  married 
Henry  Lee,  and  became  the  mother  of  "  Legion 
Harry,"  a  favorite  officer  and  friend  of  Washing 
ton,  and  the  grandmother  of  Robert  E.  Lee,  the 
great  soldier  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  The 
affair  with  Miss  Carey  went  on  apparently  for  some 
years,  fitfully  pursued  in  the  intervals  of  war  and 


94  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Indian  fighting,  and  interrupted  also  by  matters  of 
a  more  tender  nature.  The  first  diversion  occurred 
aboot  1752,  when  we  find  Washington  writing  to 
William  Fauntleroy,  at  Richmond,  that  he  pro 
posed  to  come  to  his  house  to  see  his  sister,  Miss 
Betsy,  and  that  he  hoped  for  a  revocation  of  her 
former  cruel  sentence.1  Miss  Betsy,  however, 
seems  to  have  been  obdurate,  and  we  hear  no  more 
of  love  affairs  until  much  later,  and  then  in  con 
nection  with  matters  of  a  graver  sort. 

When  Captain  Dagworthy,  commanding  thirty 
men  in  the  Maryland  service,  undertook  in  virtue 
of  a  king's  commission  to  outrank  the  eommander- 
in-chief  of  the  Virginian  forces,  Washington  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  would  have  this  question  at 
least  finally  and  properly  settled.  So,  as  has  been 
said,  he  went  to  Boston,  saw  Governor  Shirley,  and 
had  the  dispute  determined  in  his  own  favor.  He 
made  the  journey  on  horseback,  and  had  with  him 
two  of  his  aides  and  two  servants.  An  old  letter, 
luckily  preserved,  tells  us  how  he  looked,  for  it  con 
tains  orders  to  his  London  agents  for  various  arti 
cles,  sent  for  perhaps  in  anticipation  of  this  very 
expedition.  In  Braddock's  campaign  the  young 
surveyor  and  frontier  soldier  had  been  thrown 
among  a  party  of  dashing,  handsomely  equipped 
officers  fresh  from  London,  and  their  appearance 
had  engaged  his  careful  attention.  Washington 
was  a  thoroughly  simple  man  in  all  ways,  but  he 

1  Historical  Magazine,  3d  series,  1873.  Letter  communicated 
by  Fitzhugh  Lee, 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  95 

was-  also  a  man  of  taste  and  a  lover  of  military 
discipline.  He  had  a  keen  sense  of  appropriate 
ness,  a  valuable  faculty  which  stood  him  in  good 
stead  in  grave  as  well  as  trivial  matters  all  through 
his  career,  and  which  in  his  youth  came  out  most 
strongly  in  the  matter  of  manners  and  personal  ap 
pearance.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  and  liked  to 
be  well  dressed  and  to  have  everything  about  him 
self  or  his  servants  of  the  best.  Yet  he  was  not  a 
mere  imitator  of  fashions  or  devoted  to  fine  clothes. 
The  American  leggings  and  fringed  hunting-shirt 
had  a  strong  hold  on  his  affections,  and  he  intro 
duced  them  into  Forbes's  army,  and  again  into  the 
army  of  the  Revolution,  as  the  best  uniform  for  the 
backwoods  fighters.  But  he  learned  with  Brad  dock 
that  the  dress  of  parade  has  as  real  military  value 
as  that  of  service,  and  when  he  travelled  northward 
to  settle  about  Captain  Dagworthy,  he  felt  justly 
that  he  now  was  going  on  parade  for  the  first  time 
as  the  representative  of  his  troops  and  his  colony. 
Therefore  with  excellent  sense  he  dressed  as  befitted 
the  occasion,  and  at  the  same  time  gratified  his  own 
taste. 

Thanks  to  these  precautions,  the  little  cavalcade 
that  left  Virginia  on  February  4,  1756,  must  have 
looked  brilliant  enough  as  they  rode  away  through 
the  dark  woods.  First  came  the  colonel,  mounted 
of  course  on  the  finest  of  animals,  for  he  loved  and 
understood  horses  from  the  time  when  he  rode 
bareback  in  the  pasture  to  those  later  days  when  he 
acted  as  judge  at  a  horse-race  and  saw  his  own  pet 


96  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

colt  "  Magnolia  "  beaten.  In  this  expedition  he 
wore,  o£  course,  his  uniform  of  buff  and  blue,  with 
a  white  and  scarlet  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  and  a 
sword-knot  of  red  and  gold.  His  "horse  furniture" 
was  of  the  best  London  make,  trimmed  with  "  livery 
lace,"  and  the  Washington  arms  were  engraved 
upon  the  housings.  Close  by  his  side  rode  his  two 
aides,  likewise  in  buff  and  blue,  and  behind  came 
his  servants,  dressed  in  the  Washington  colors  of 
white  and  scarlet  and  wearing  hats  laced  with  silver. 
Thus  accoutred,  they  all  rode  on  together  to  the 
North. 

The  colonel's  fame  had  gone  before  him,  for  the 
hero  of  Braddock's  stricken  field  and  the  com 
mander  of  the  Virginian  forces  was  known  by  repu 
tation  throughout  the  colonies.  Every  door  flew 
open  to  him  as  he  passed,  and  every  one  was  de 
lighted  to  welcome  the  young  soldier.  He  was 
dined  and  wined  and  feted  in  Philadelphia,  and 
again  in  New  York,  where  he  fell  in  love  at  appar 
ently  short  notice  with  the  heiress  Mary  Philipse, 
the  sister-in-law  of  his  friend  Beverly  Robinson. 
Tearing  himself  away  from  these  attractions  he 
pushed  on  to  Boston,  then  the  most  important  city 
on  the  continent,  and  the  headquarters  of  Shirley, 
the  commander-in-chief.  The  little  New  England 
capital  had  at  that  time  a  society  which,  rich  for 
those  days,  was  relieved  from  its  Puritan  sombre- 
ness  by  the  gayety  and  life  brought  in  b}^  the  royal 
officers.  Here  Washington  lingered  ten  days,  talk 
ing  war  and  politics  with  the  governor,  visiting  in 


LOVE  AND   MARRIAGE.  97 

state  the  "  great  and  general  court,"  dancing  every 
night  at  some  ball,  dining  with  and  being  feted  by 
the  magnates  of  the  town.  His  business  done,  he 
returned  to  New  York,  tarried  there  awhile  for 
the  sake  of  the  fair  dame,  but  came  to  no  conclu 
sions,  and  then,  like  County  Guy,  he  gave  his  bridle- 
rein  a  shake  and  rode  away  again  to  the  South,  and 
to  the  harassed  and  ravaged  frontier  of  Virginia. 

How  much  this  little  interlude,  pushed  into  a 
corner  as  it  has  been  by  the  dignity  of  history,  — 
how  much  it  tells  of  the  real  man  !  How  the  statu 
esque  myth  and  the  priggish  myth  and  the  dull 
and  solemn  myth  melt  away  before  it  !  Wise  and 
strong,  a  bearer  of  heavy  responsibility  beyond  his 
years,  daring  in  fight  and  sober  in  judgment,  we 
have  here  the  other  and  the  more  human  side  of 
Washington.  One  loves  to  picture  that  gallant, 
generous,  youthful  figure,  brilliant  in  color  and 
manly  in  form,  riding  gayly  on  from  one  little  colo 
nial  town  to  another,  feasting,  dancing,  courting, 
and  making  merry.  For  him  the  myrtle  and  ivy 
were  entwined  with  the  laurel,  and  fame  was 
sweetened  by  youth.  He  was  righteously  ready  to 
draw  from  life  all  the  good  things  which  fate  and 
fortune  then  smiling  upon  him  could  offer,  and  he 
took  his  pleasure  frankly  and  freely,  with  an  honest 
heart. 

We  know  that  he  succeeded  in  his  mission  and 
put  the  captain  of  thirty  men  in  his  proper  place, 
but  no  one  now  can  tell  how  deeply  he  was  affected 
by  the  charms  of  Miss  Philipse.  The  only  certain 


98  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

fact  is  that  he  was  able  not  long  after  to  "console 
himself  very  effectually.  Riding  away  from  Mount 
Vernon  once  more,  in  the  spring  of  1758,  this  time 
to  Williamsburg  with  despatches,  he  stopped  at 
William's  Ferry  to  dine  with  his  friend  Major 
Chamberlayne,  and  there  he  met  Martha  Dand  ridge, 
the  widow  of  Daniel  Parke  Custis.  She  was  young, 
pretty,  intelligent,  and  an  heiress,  and  her  society 
seemed  to  attract  the  young  soldier.  The  afternoon 
wore  away,  the  horses  came  to  the  door  at  the  ap 
pointed  time,  and  after  being  walked  back  and  forth 
for  some  hours  were  returned  to  the  stable.  The 
sun  went  down,  and  still  the  colonel  lingered.  The 
next  morning  he  rode  away  with  his  despatches, 
but  on  his  return  he  paused  at  the  White  House, 
the  home  of  Mrs.  Custis,  and  then  and  there 
plighted  his  troth  with  the  charming  widow.  The 
wooing  was  brief  and  decisive,  and  the  successful 
lover  departed  for  the  camp,  to  feel  more  keenly 
than  ever  the  delays  of  the  British  officers  and  the 
shortcomings  of  the  colonial  government.  As  soon 
as  Fort  Duquesne  had  fallen  he  hurried  home,  re 
signed  his  commission  in  the  last  week  of  Decem 
ber,  and  was  married  on  January  6,  1759.  It 
was  a  brilliant  wedding  party  which  assembled  on 
that  winter  day  in  the  little  church  near  the  W^hite 
House.  There  were  gathered  Francis  Fauquier, 
the  gay,  free-thinking,  high-living  governor,  gor 
geous  in  scarlet  and  gold ;  British  officers,  red- 
coated  and  gold-laced,  and  all  the  neighboring 
gentry  in  the  handsomest  clothes  that  London 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  99 

credit  could  furnish.  The  bride  was  attired  in  silk 
and  satin,  laces  and  brocade,  with  pearls  on  her 
neck  and  in  her  ears  ;  while  the  bridegroom  appeared 
in  blue  and  silver  trimmed  with  scarlet,  and  with 
gold  buckles  at  his  knees  and  on  his  shoes.  After 
the  ceremony  the  bride  was  taken  home  in  a  coach 
and  six,  her  husband  riding  beside  her,  mounted  on 
a  splendid  horse  and  followed  by  all  the  gentlemen 
of  the  party. 

The  sunshine  and  glitter  of  the  wedding-day 
must  have  appeared  to  Washington  deeply  appro 
priate,  for  he  certainly  seemed  to  have  all  that 
heart  of  man  could  desire.  Just  twenty-seven,  in 
the  first  flush  of  young  manhood,  keen  of  sense  and 
yet  wise  in  experience,  life  must  have  looked  very 
fair  and  smiling.  He  had  left  the  army  with  a 
well-earned  fame,  and  had  come  home  to  take  the 
wife  of  his  choice  and  enjoy  the  good-will  and  re 
spect  of  all  men.  While  away  on  his  last  campaign 
he  had  been  elected  a  member  of  the  House  of 
Burgesses,  and  when  he  took  his  seat  on  removing 
to  Williamsburg,  three  months  after  his  marriage, 
Mr.  Robinson,  the  speaker,  thanked  him  publicly 
in  eloquent  words  for  his  services  to  the  country. 
Washington  rose  to  reply,  but  he  was  so  utterly 
unable  to  talk  about  himself  that  he  stood  before 
the  House  stammering  and  blushing,  until  the 
speaker  said,  "Sit  down,  Mr.  Washington ;  your 
modesty  equals  your  valor,  and  that  surpasses  the 
power  of  any  language  I  possess."  It  is  an  old 
story,  and  as  graceful  as  it  is  old,  but  it  was  all  very 


100  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

grateful  to  Washington,  especially  as  the  words  of 
the  speaker  bodied  forth  the  feelings  of  Virginia. 
Such  an  atmosphere,  filled  with  deserved  respect 
and  praise,  was  pleasant  to  begin  with,  and  then  he 
had  everything  else  too. 

«/He  not  only  continued  to  sit  in  the  House  year 
after  year  and  help  to  rule  Virginia,  but  he  served 
on  the  church  vestry,  and  so  held  in  his  hands 
the  reins  of  local  government.  He  had  married 
a  charming  woman,  simple,  straightforward,  and 
sympathetic,  free  from  gossip  or  pretence,  and  as 
capable  in  practical  matters  as  he  was  himself. 
By  right  of  birth  a  member  of  the  Virginian  aris 
tocracy,  he  had  widened  and  strengthened  his  con 
nections  through  his  wife.  A  man  of  handsome 
property  by  the  death  of  Lawrence  Washington's 
daughter,  he  had  become  by  his  marriage  one  of 
the  richest  men  of  the  country.  Acknowledged  to 
be  the  first  soldier  on  the  continent,  respected  and 
trusted  in  public,  successful  and  happy  in  private 
life,  he  had  attained  before  he  was  thirty  to  all 
that  Virginia  could  give  of  wealth,  prosperity,  and 
honor,  a  fact  of  which  he  was  well  aware,  for  there 
never  breathed  a  man  more  wisely  contented  than 
George  Washington  at  this  period. 

He  made  his  home  at  Mount  Vernon,  adding 
many  acres  to  the  estate,  and  giving  to  it  his  best 
attention.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  suc 
cessful,  for  that  was  the  case  with  everything  he 
undertook.  He  loved  country  life,  and  he  was 
the  best  and  most  prosperous  planter  in  Virginia, 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  101 

which  was  really  a  more  difficult  achievement  than 
the  mere  statement  implies.  Genuinely  profitable 
farming  in  Virginia  was  not  common,  for  the  gen 
eral  system  was  a  bad  one.  A  single  great  staple, 
easily  produced  by  the  reckless  exhaustion  of  land, 
and  varying  widely  in  the  annual  value  of  crops, 
bred  improvidence  and  speculation.  Everything 
was  bought  upon  long  credits,  given  by  the  London 
merchants,  and  this,  too,  contributed  largely  to 
carelessness  and  waste.  The  chronic  state  of  a 
planter  in  a  business  way  was  one  of  debt,  and  the 
lack  of  capital  made  his  conduct  of  affairs  extrava 
gant  and  loose.  With  all  his  care  and  method 
Washington  himself  was  often  pinched  for  ready 
money,  and  it  was  only  by  his  thoroughness  and 
foresight  that  he  prospered  and  made  money  while 
so  many  of  his  neighbors  struggled  with  debt  and 
lived  on  in  easy  luxury,  not  knowing  what  the 
morrow  might  bring  forth. 

A  far  more  serious  trouble  than  bad  business 
methods  was  one  which  was  little  heeded  at  the 
moment,  but  which  really  lay  at  the  foundation  of 
the  whole  system  of  society  and  business.  This 
was  the  character  of  the  labor  by  which  the  plan 
tations  were  worked.  Slave  labor  is  well  known 
now  to  be  the  most  expensive  and  the  worst  form 
of  labor  that  can  be  employed.  In  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  however,  its  evils  were  not 
appreciated,  either  from  an  economical  or  a  moral 
point  of  view.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the 
subject  of  African  slavery  in  America.  But  it  is 


102  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

important  to  know  Washington's  opinions  in  regard 
to  an  institution  which  was  destined  to  have  such  a 
powerful  influence  upon  the  country,  and  it  seems 
most  appropriate  to  consider  those  opinions  at  the 
moment  when  slaves  became  a  practical  factor  in 
his  life  as  a  Virginian  planter. 

Washington  accepted  the  system  as  he  found 
it,  as  most  men  accept  the  social  arrangements 
to  which  they  are  born.  He  grew  up  in  a  world 
where  slavery  had  always  existed,  and  where  its 
rightfulness  had  never  been  questioned.  Being  on 
the  frontier,  occupied  with  surveying  and  with  war, 
he  never  had  occasion  to  really  consider  the  matter 
at  all  until  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  large 
estates,  with  his  own  prosperity  dependent  on  the 
labor  of  slaves.  The  first  practical  question,  there- 
lore,  was  how  to  employ  this  labor  to  the  best  ad 
vantage.  A  man  of  his  clear  perceptions  soon  dis 
covered  the  defects  of  the  system,  and  he  gave  great 
attention  to  feeding  and  clothing  his  slaves,  and  to 
their  general  management.  Parkinson l  says  in  a 
general  way  that  Washington  treated  his  slaves 
harshly,  spoke  to  them  sharply,  and  maintained  a 
military  discipline,  to  which  he  attributed  the  Gen 
eral's  rare  success  as  a  planter.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  success,  and  the  military  discipline  is 
probably  true,  but  the  statement  as  to  harshness  is 
unsupported  by  any  other  authority.  Indeed,  Park 
inson  even  contradicts  it  himself,  for  he  says  else 
where  that  Washington  never  bought  or  sold  a  slave, 
1  Tour  in  America,  1798-1800. 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  103 

a  proof  of  the  highest  and  most  intelligent  human 
ity ;  and  he  adds  in  his  final  sketch  of  the  General's 
character,  that  he  "  was  incapable  of  wrong-doing, 
but  did  to  all  men  as  he  would  they  should  do  to 
him.  Therefore  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he 
would  injure  the  negro."  This  agrees  with  what  we 
learn  from  all  other  sources.  Humane  by  nature, 
he  conceived  a  great  interest  and  pity  for  these 
helpless  beings,  and  treated  them  with  kindness 
and  forethought.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  wise  and 
good  master,  as  well  as  a  successful  one,  and  the 
condition  of  his  slaves  was  as  happy,  and  their  labor 
as  profitable,  as  was  possible  to  such  a  system. 

So  the  years  rolled  by  ;  the  war  came  and  then 
the  making  of  the  government,  and  Washington's 
thoughts  were  turned  more  and  more,  as  was  the 
case  with  all  the  men  of  his  time  in  that  era  of 
change  and  of  new  ideas,  to  the  consideration  of 
human  slavery  in  its  moral,  political,  and  social  as 
pects.  To  trace  the  course  of  his  opinions  in  detail 
is  needless.  It  is  sufficient  to  summarize  them,  for 
the  results  of  his  reflection  and  observation  are 
more  important  than  the  processes  by  which  they 
were  reached.  Washington  became  convinced  that 
the  whole  system  was  thoroughly  bad,  as  well  as 
utterly  repugnant  to  the  ideas  on  which  the  Kevo- 
lution  was  fought  and  the  government  of  the  United 
States  founded.  With  a  prescience  wonderful  for 
those  days  and  on  that  subject,  he  saw  that  slavery 
meant  the  up-growth  in  the  United  States  of  two 
systems  so  radically  hostile,  both  socially  and  eco- 


104  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

nomically,  that  they  could  lead  only  to  a  struggle 
for  political  supremacy,  which  in  its  course  he 
feared  would  imperil  the  Union.  For  this  reason 
he  deprecated  the  introduction  of  the  slavery  ques 
tion  into  the  debates  of  the  first  Congress,  because 
he  realized  its  character,  and  he  did  not  believe 
that  the  Union  or  the  government  at  that  early  day 
could  bear  the  strain  which  in  this  way  would  be 
produced.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  a  right 
solution  must  be  found  or  inconceivable  evils  would 
ensue.  The  inherent  and  everlasting  wrong  of  the 
system  made  its  continuance,  to  his  mind,  impos 
sible.  While  it  existed,  he  believed  that  the  laws 
which  surrounded  it  should  be  maintained,  because 
he  thought  that  to  violate  these  only  added  one 
wrong  to  another.  He  also  doubted,  as  will  be  seen 
in  a  later  chapter,  where  his  conversation  with  John 
Bernard  is  quoted,  whether  the  negroes  could  be 
immediately  emancipated  with  safety  either  to  them 
selves  or  to  the  whites,  in  their  actual  condition  of 
ignorance,  illiteracy,  and  helplessness.  The  plan 
which  he  favored,  and  which,  it  would  seem,  was  his 
hope  and  reliance,  was  first  the  checking  of  importa 
tion,  followed  by  a  gradual  emancipation,  with  proper 
compensation  to  the  owners  and  suitable  prepara 
tion  and  education  for  the  slaves.  He  told  the 
clergymen  Asbury  and  Coke,  when  they  visited  him 
for  that  purpose,  that  he  was  in  favor  of  emancipa 
tion,  and  was  ready  to  write  a  letter  to  the  assembly 
to  that  effect.1  He  wished  fervently  that  such  a 

1  Magazine  of  American  History,  1880,  p.  158. 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  105 

spirit  might  take  possession  of  the  people  of  the 
country,  but  he  wrote  to  Lafayette  that  he  de 
spaired  of  seeing  it.  When  he  died  he  did  all  that 
lay  within  his  power  to  impress  his  views  upon  his 
countrymen  by  directing  that  all  his  slaves  should 
be  set  free  on  the  death  of  his  wife.  His  precepts 
and  his  example  in  this  grave  matter  went  unheeded 
for  many  years  by  the  generations  that  came  after 
him.  But  now  that  slavery  is  dead,  to  the  joy  of 
all  men,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  on  this  terrible 
question  Washington's  opinions  were  those  of  a 
humane  man,  impatient  of  wrong,  and  of  a  noble 
and  far-seeing  statesman,  watchful  of  the  evils  that 
threatened  his  country.1 

After  this  digression  let  us  return  to  the  Virgin 
ian  farmer,  whose  mind  was  not  disturbed  as  yet 
by  thoughts  of  the  destiny  of  the  United  States,  or 
considerations  of  the  rights  of  man,  but  who  was 
much  exercised  by  the  task  of  making  an  honest 
income  out  of  his  estates.  To  do  this  he  grappled 
with  details  as  firmly  as  he  did  with  the  general 
system  under  which  all  plantations  in  that  day 
were  carried  on.  He  understood  every  branch  of 
farming;  he  was  on  the  alert  for  every  improve 
ment;  he  rose  early,  worked  steadily,  gave  to  every 
thing  his  personal  supervision,  kept  his  own  accounts 
with  wonderful  exactness,  and  naturally  enough  his 
brands  of  flour  went  unquestioned  everywhere,  his 
credit  was  high,  and  he  made  money  —  so  far  as 

1  For  some  expressions  of  Washington's  opinions  on  slavery,  see 
Sparks,  via.  414,  ix.  159-103,  and  x.  224. 


106  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

it  was  possible  under  existing  conditions.  Like 
Shakespeare,  as  Bishop  Blougram  has  it,  he 

"  Saved  money,  spent  it,  owned  the  worth  of  thing's," 

He  had  no  fine  and  senseless  disregard  for  money 
or  the  good  things  of  this  world,  but  on  the  con 
trary  saw  in  them  not  the  value  attached  to  them 
by  vulgar  minds,  but  their  true  worth.  He  was  a 
solid,  square,  evenly-balanced  man  in  those  days, 
believing  that  whatever  he  did  was  worth  doing 
well.  So  he  farmed,  as  he  fought  and  governed, 
better  than  anybody  else. 

While  thus  looking  after  his  own  estates  at 
home,  he  went  further  afield  in  search  of  invest 
ments,  keeping  a  shrewd  eye  on  the  western  lands, 
and  buying  wisely  and  judiciously  whenever  he  had 
the  opportunity.  He  also  constituted  himself  now, 
as  in  a  later  time,  the  champion  of  the  soldiers,  for 
whom  he  had  the  truest  sympathy  and  affection, 
and  a  large  part  of  the  correspondence  of  this  pe 
riod  is  devoted  to  their  claims  for  the  lands  granted 
them  by  the  assembly.  He  distinguished  care 
fully  among  them,  however,  those  who  were  unde 
serving,  and  to  the  major  of  the  regiment,  who  had 
been  excluded  from  the  public  thanks  on  account 
of  cowardice  at  the  Great  Meadows,  he  wrote  as 
follows :  "  Your  impertinent  letter  was  delivered 
to  me  yesterday.  As  I  am  not  accustomed  to  re 
ceive  such  from  any  man,  nor  would  have  taken 
the  same  language  from  you  personally  without 
letting  you  feel  some  marks  of  my  resentment,  I 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  107 

would  advise  you  to  be  cautious  in  writing  me  a 
second  of  the  same  tenor.  But  for  your  stupidity 
and  sottishness  you  might  have  known,  by  attend 
ing  to  the  public  gazette,  that  you  had  your  full 
quantity  of  ten  thousand  acres  of  land  allowed 
you.  But  suppose  you  had  really  fallen  short,  do 
you  think  your  superlative  merit  entitles  you  to 
greater  indulgence  than  others?  .  .  .  All  my  con 
cern  is  that  I  ever  engaged  in  behalf  of  so  un 
grateful  a  fellow  as  you  are."  The  writer  of  this 
letter,  be  it  said  in  passing,  was  the  man  whom 
Mr.  Weeins  and  others  tell  us  was  knocked  down 
before  his  soldiers,  and  then  apologized  to  his  as 
sailant.  It  may  be  suspected  that  it  was  well  for 
the  recipient  of  this  letter  that  he  did  not  have  a 
personal  interview  with  its  author,  and  it  may  be 
doubted  if  he  ever  sought  one  subsequently.  Just, 
generous,  and  magnanimous  to  an  extraordinary 
degree,  Washington  had  a  dangerous  temper,  held 
well  under  control,  but  blazing  out  now  and  again 
against  injustice,  impertinence,  or  oppression.  He 
was  a  peaceful  man,  leading  a  peaceful  life,  but  the 
fighting  spirit  only  slumbered,  and  it  would  break 
out  at  wrong  of  any  sort,  in  a  way  which  was  ex 
tremely  unpleasant  and  threatening  to  those  who 
aroused  it. 

Apart  from  lands  and  money  and  the  manage 
ment  of  affairs,  public  and  private,  there  were  many 
other  interests  of  varied  nature  which  all  had  their 
share  of  Washington's  time  and  thought.  He  was 
a  devoted  husband,  and  gave  to  his  step-children 


108  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

the  most  affectionate  care.  He  watched  over  and 
protected  them,  and  when  the  daughter  died,  after 
a  long-  and  wasting  illness,  in  1773,  he  mourned 
for  her  as  if  she  had  been  his  own,  with  all  the 
tenderness  of  a  deep  and  reserved  affection.  The 
boy,  John  Custis,  he  made  his  friend  and  compan 
ion  from  the  beginning,  and  his  letters  to  the  lad 
and  about  him  are  wise  and  judicious  in  the  high 
est  degree.  He  spent  much  time  and  thought  on 
the  question  of  education,  and  after  securing  the 
best  instructors  took  the  boy  to  New  York  and 
entered  him  at  Columbia  College  in  1773.  Young 
Custis  however  did  not  remain  there  long,  for  he 
had  fallen  in  love,  and  the  following  year  was  mar 
ried  to  Eleanor  Calvert,  not  without  some  misgiv 
ings  on  the  part  of  Washington,  who  had  observed 
his  ward's  somewhat  flighty  disposition,  and  who 
gave  a  great  deal  of  anxious  thought  to  his  future. 
At  home  as  abroad  he  was  an  undemonstrative 
man,  but  he  had  abundance  of  that  real  affection 
which  labors  for  those  to  whom  it  goes  out  more 
unselfishly  and  far  more  effectually  than  that 
which  bubbles  and  boils  upon  the  surface  like  a 
shallow,  noisy  brook. 

From  the  suggestions  that  he  made  in  regard  to 
young  Custis,  it  is  evident  that  Washington  val 
ued  and  respected  education,  and  that  he  had  that 
regard  for  learning  for  its  own  sake  which  always 
exists  in  large  measure  in  every  thoughtful  man. 
He  read  well,  even  if  his  active  life  prevented  his 
reading  much,  as  we  can  see  by  his  vigorous  Eng- 


LOVE  AND   MARRIAGE.  109 

lish,  and  by  his  occasional  allusions  to  history. 
From  his  London  orders  we  see,  too,  that  every 
thing  about  his  house  must  have  denoted  that  its 
possessor  had  refinement  and  taste.  His  intense 
sense  of  propriety  and  unfailing  instinct  for  what 
was  appropriate  are  everywhere  apparent.  His 
dress,  his  furniture,  his  harnesses,  the  things  for 
the  children,  all  show  the  same  fondness  for  sim 
plicity,  and  yet  a  constant  insistence  that  every 
thing  should  be  the  best  of  its  kind.  We  can  learn 
a  good  deal  about  any  man  by  the  ornaments  of 
his  house,  and  by  the  portraits  which  hang  on  his 
walls  ;  for  these  dumb  things  tell  us  whom  among 
the  great  men  of  earth  the  owner  admires,  and  in 
dicate  the  tastes  he  best  loves  to  gratify.  When 
Washington  first  settled  with  his  wife  at  Mount 
Vernon,  he  ordered  from  Europe  the  busts  of 
Alexander  the  Great,  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden, 
Julius  Caesar,  Frederick  of  Prussia,  Marlborough, 
and  Prince  Eugene,  and  in  addition  he  asked  for 
statuettes  of  "  two  wild  beasts."  The  combina 
tion  of  soldier  and  statesman  is  the  predominant 
admiration,  then  comes  the  reckless  and  splendid 
military  adventurer,  and  lastly  wild  life  and  the 
chase.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  ideas  and  fan 
cies  of  the  man  who  penned  this  order  which  has 
drifted  down  to  us  from  the  past. 

But  as  Washington's  active  life  was  largely  out 
of  doors,  so  too  were  his  pleasures.  He  loved  the 
fresh  open-air  existence  of  the  woods  and  fields, 
and  there  he  found  his  one  great  amusement.  He 


110  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

shot  and  fished,  but  did  not  care  much  for  these 
pursuits,  for  his  hobby  was  hunting,  which  gratified 
at  once  his  passion  for  horses  and  dogs  and  his 
love  for  the  strong  excitement  of  the  chase,  when 
dashed  with  just  enough  danger  to  make  it  really 
fascinating.  He  showed  in  his  sport  the  same 
thoroughness  and  love  of  perfection  that  he  dis 
played  in  everything  else.  His  stables  were  filled 
with  the  best  animals  that  Virginia  could  furnish. 
There  were  the  "  blooded  coach-horses  "  for  Mrs. 
Washington's  carriage,  "  Magnolia,"  a  full-blooded 
Arabian,  used  by  his  owner  for  the  road,  the 
ponies  for  the  children,  and  finally,  the  high-bred 
hunters  Chinkling  and  Valiant,  Ajax  and  Bliie- 
skiii,  and  the  rest,  all  duly  set  down  in  the  register 
in  the  handwriting  of  the  master  himself.  His  first 
visit  in  the  morning  was  to  the  stables.  The  next 
to  the  kennels  to  inspect  and  criticise  the  hounds, 
also  methodically  registered  and  described,  so  that 
we  can  read  the  names  of  Vulcan  and  Ringwood, 
Singer  and  Truelove,  Music  and  Sweetlips,  to 
which  the  Virginian  woods  once  echoed  nearly  a 
century  and  a  half  ago.  His  hounds  were  the  sub 
ject  of  much  thought,  and  were  so  constantly  and 
critically  drafted  as  to  speed,  keenness,  and  bot 
tom,  that  when  in  full  cry  they  ran  so  closely 
bunched  that  tradition  says,  in  classic  phrase,  they 
could  have  been  covered  with  a  blanket.  The 
hounds  met  three  times  a  week  in  the  season, 
usually  at  Mount  Vernon,  sometimes  at  Belvoir. 
They  would  get  off  at  daybreak,  Washington  in 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  Ill 

the  midst  of  his  hounds,  splendidly  mounted,  gen 
erally  on  his  favorite  Blueskin,  a  powerful  iron- 
gray  horse  of  great  speed  and  endurance.  He  wore 
a  blue  coat,  scarlet  waistcoat,  buckskin  breeches, 
and  a  velvet  cap.  Closely  followed  by  his  hunts 
man  and  the  neighboring  gentlemen,  with  the 
ladies,  headed,  very  likely,  by  Mrs.  Washington 
in  a  scarlet  habit,  he  would  ride  to  the  appointed 
covert  and  throw  in.  There  was  no  difficulty  in 
finding,  and  then  away  they  would  go,  usually 
after  a  gray  fox,  sometimes  after  a  big  black  fox, 
rarely  to  be  caught.  Most  of  the  country  was  wild 
and  unfenced,  rough  in  footing,  and  offering  hard 
and  dangerous  going  for  the  horses,  but  Washing 
ton  always  made  it  a  rule  to  stay  with  his  hounds. 
Cautious  or  timid  riders,  if  they  were  so  minded, 
could  gallop  along  the  wood  roads  with  the  ladies, 
and  content  themselves  with  glimpses  of  the  hunt, 
but  the  master  rode  at  the  front.  The  fields,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  were  sometimes  small,  but  Washing 
ton  hunted  even  if  he  had  only  his  stepson  or  was 
quite  alone. 

His  diaries  abound  with  allusions  to  the  sport. 
"  Went  a-hunting  with  Jacky  Custis,  and  catched 
a  fox  after  three  hours  chase ;  found  it  in  the 
creek."  "  Mr.  Bryan  Fairfax,  Mr.  Grayson,  and 
Phil.  Alexander  came  home  by  sunrise.  Hunted 
and  catched  a  fox  with  these,  Lord  Fairfax,  his 
brother,  and  Colonel  Fairfax,  all  of  whom,  with 
Mr.  Fairfax  and  Mr.  Wilson  of  England,  dined 
here."  Again,  November  26th  and  29th,  "  Hunted 


112  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

again  with  the  same  party."  "  1768,  Jan.  8th. 
Hunting  again  with  same  company.  Started  a  fox 
and  run  him  4  hours.  Took  the  hounds  off  at 
night."  "Jan.  15.  Shooting."  "  16.  At  home  all 
day  with  cards  ;  it  snowing."  "  23.  Rid  to  Muddy 
Hole  and  directed  paths  to  be  cut  for  fox-hunting." 
"Feb.  12.  Catched  2  foxes."  "Feb.  13.  Catched 
2  more  foxes."  "Mar.  2.  Catched  fox  with  bob'd 
tail  and  cut  ears  after  7  hours  chase,  in  which  most 
of  the  dogs  were  worsted."  "Dec.  5.  Fox-hunting 
with  Lord  Fairfax  and  his  brother  and  Colonel 
Fairfax.  Started  a  fox  and  lost  it.  Dined  at 
Belvoir  and  returned  in  the  evening."  1 

So  the  entries  run  on,  for  he  hunted  almost  every 
day  in  the  season,  usually  with  success,  but  always 
with  persistence.  Like  all  true  sportsmen  Wash 
ington  had  a  horror  of  illicit  sport  of  any  kind, 
and  although  he  shot  comparatively  little,  he  was 
much  annoyed  by  a  vagabond  who  lurked  in  the 
creeks  and  inlets  on  his  estate,  and  slaughtered  his 
canvas-back  ducks.  Hearing  the  report  of  a  gun 
one  morning,  he  rode  through  the  bushes  and  saw 
his  poaching  friend  just  shoving  off  in  a  canoe. 
The  rascal  raised  his  gun  and  covered  his  pursuer, 
whereupon  Washington,  the  cold-blooded  and  pa 
tient  person  so  familiar  in  the  myths,  dashed  his 
horse  headlong  into  the  water,  seized  the  gun, 
grasped  the  canoe,  and  dragging  it  ashore  pulled 
the  man  out  of  the  boat  and  beat  him  soundly.  If 
the  man  had  yielded  at  once  he  would  probably 

1  MS.  Diaries  in  State  Department. 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  113 

have  got  oft"  easily  enough,  but  when  he  put  Wash 
ington's  life  in  imminent  peril,  the  wild  fighting 
spirit  flared  up  as  usual. 

The  hunting  season  was  of  course  that  of  the 
most  lavish  hospitality.  There  was  always  a  great 
deal  of  dining  about,  but  Mount  Vernon  was  the 
chief  resort,  and  its  doors,  ever  open,  were  flung 
far  back  when  people  came  for  a  meet,  or  gathered 
to  talk  over  the  events  of  a  good  run.  Company 
was  the  rule  and  solitude  the  exception.  When 
only  the  family  were  at  dinner,  the  fact  was  written 
down  in  the  diary  with  great  care  as  an  unusual 
event,  for  Washington  was  the  soul  of  hospitality, 
and  although  he  kept  early  hours,  he  loved  society 
and  a  houseful  of  people.  Profoundly  reserved  and 
silent  as  to  himself,  a  lover  of  solitude  so  far  as 
his  own  thoughts  and  feelings  were  concerned,  he 
was  far  from  being  a  solitary  man  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  the  word.  He  liked  life  and  gayety 
and  conversation,  he  liked  music  and  dancing  or  a 
game  of  cards  when  the  weather  was  bad,  and  he 
enjoyed  heartily  the  presence  of  young  people  and 
of  his  own  friends.  So  Mount  Vernon  was  always 
full  of  guests,  and  the  master  noted  in  his  diary 
that  although  he  owned  more  than  a  hundred  cows 
he  was  obliged,  nevertheless,  to  buy  butter,  which 
suggests  an  experience  not  unknown  to  gentlemen 
farmers  of  any  period,  and  also  that  company  was 
never  lacking  in  that  generous,  open  house  over 
looking  the  Potomac. 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  his  own  estate  he  had  also 


114  GEORGE  WASHINGTON*. 

many  occupations  and  pleasures.  He  was  a  mem 
ber  of  the  House  of  Burgesses,  diligent  in  his  at 
tention  to  the  work  of  governing  the  colony.  He 
was  diligent  also  in  church  affairs,  and  very  active 
in  the  vestry,  which  was  the  seat  of  local  govern 
ment  in  Virginia.  We  hear  of  him  also  as  the  man 
ager  of  lotteries,  which  were  a  common  form  of  rais 
ing  money  for  local  purposes,  in  preference  to  direct 
taxation.  In  a  word,  he  was  thoroughly  public-spir 
ited,  and  performed  all  the  small  duties  which  his 
position  demanded  in  the  same  spirit  that  he  after 
wards  brought  to  the  command  of  armies  and  to 
the  government  of  the  nation.  He  had  pleasure  too, 
as  well  as  business,  away  from  Mount  Vernon.  He 
liked  to  go  to  his  neighbors'  houses  and  enjoy  their 
hospitality  as  they  enjoyed  his.  We  hear  of  him 
at  the  court-house  on  court  days,  where  all  the  coun 
tryside  gathered  to  talk  and  listen  to  the  lawyers 
and  hear  the  news,  and  when  he  went  to  Williams- 
burg  his  diary  tells  us  of  a  round  of  dinners,  begin 
ning  with  the  governor,  of  visits  to  the  club,  and  of 
a  regular  attendance  at  the  theatre  whenever  actors 
came  to  the  little  capital.  Whether  at  home  or 
abroad,  he  took  part  in  all  the  serious  pursuits, 
in  all  the  interests,  and  in  every  reasonable  pleasure 
offered  by  the  colony. 

Take  it  for  all  in  all,  it  was  a  manly,  wholesome, 
many-sided  life.  It  kept  Washington  young  and 
strong,  both  mentally  and  physically.  When  he 
was  forty  he  flung  the  iron  bar,  at  some  village 
sports,  to  a  point  which  no  competitor  could  ap- 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  115 

proach.  There  was  no  man  in  all  Virginia  who 
could  ride  a  horse  with  such  a  powerful  and  assured 
seat.  There  was  no  one  who  could  journey  farther 
on  foot,  and  no  man  at  Williamsburg  who  showed 
at  the  governor's  receptions  such  a  commanding 
presence,  or  who  walked  with  such  a  graceful  and 
elastic  step.  As  with  the  body  so  with  the  mind. 
He  never  rusted.  A  practical  carpenter  and  smith, 
he  brought  the  same  quiet  intelligence  and  firm 
will  to  the  forging  of  iron  or  the  felling  and  sawing 
of  trees  that  he  had  displayed  in  fighting  France. 
The  life  of  a  country  gentleman  did  not  dull  or 
stupefy  him,  or  lead  him  to  gross  indulgences. 
He  remained  well-made  and  athletic,  strong  and 
enduring,  keen  in  perception  and  in  sense,  and  warm 
in  his  feelings  and  affections.  Many  men  would 
have  become  heavy  and  useless  in  these  years  of 
quiet  country  life,  but  Washington  simply  ripened, 
and,  like  all  slowly  maturing  men,  grew  stronger, 
abler,  and  wiser  in  the  happy  years  of  rest  and 
waiting  which  intervened  between  youth  and  middle 
age. 

Meantime,  while  the  current  of  daily  life  flowed 
on  thus  gently  at  Mount  Vernon,  the  great  stream 
of  public  events  poured  by  outside.  It  ran  very 
calmly  at  first,  after  the  war,  and  then  with  a 
quickening  murmur,  which  increased  to  an  ominous 
roar  when  the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act  became 
known  in  America.  WashingtolT~was~liTways  a 
constant  attendant  at  the  assembly,  in  which  by 
sheer  force  of  character,  and  despite  his  lack  of 


116  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  talking  and  debating  faculty,  he  carried  more 
weight  than  any  other  member.  He  was  present 
on  May  29,  1765,  when  Patrick  Henry  introduced 
his  famous  resolutions  and  menaced  the  king's 
government  in  words  which  rang  through  the  con 
tinent.  The  resolutions  were  adopted,  and  Wash 
ington  went  home,  with  many  anxious  thoughts, 
to  discuss  the  political  outlook  with  his  friend  and 
neighbor  George  Mason,  one  of  the  keenest  and 
ablest  men  in  Virginia.  The  utter  folly  of  the 
policy  embodied  in  the  Stamp  Act  struck  Washing 
ton  very  forcibly.  With  that  foresight  for  which 
he  was  so  remarkable,  he  perceived  what  scarcely 
any  one  else  even  dreamt  of,  that  persistence  in  V 
this  course  must  surely  lead  to  a  violent  separation  ! 
from  the  mother  country,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note 
in  this,  the  first  instance  when  he  was  called  upon 
to  consider  a  political  question  of  great  magnitude, 
his  clearness  of  vision  and  grasp  of  mind.  In  what 
he  wrote  there  is  no  trace  of  the  ambitious  schemer, 
no  threatening  nor  blustering,  no  undue  despond 
ency  nor  excited  hopes.  But  there  is  a  calm  under 
standing  of  all  the  conditions,  an  entire  freedom 
from  self-deception,  and  the  power  of  seeing  facts 
exactly  as  they  were,  which  were  all  characteristic 
of  his  intellectual  strength,  and  to  which  we  shall 
need  to  recur  again  and  again. 

The  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act  was  received  by 
Washington  with  sober  but  sincere  pleasure.  He 
had  anticipated  "  direful  "  results  and  "  unhappy 
consequences  "  from  its  enforcement,  and  he  freely 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  117 

said  that  those  who  were  instrumental  in  its  repeal 
had  his  cordial  thanks.  He  was  no  agitator,  and 
had  not  come  forward  in  this  affair,  so  he  now  re 
tired  again  to  Mount  Yernon,  to  his  farming  and 
hunting,  where  he  remained,  watching  very  closely 
the  progress  of  events.  He  had  marked  the  dan 
gerous  reservation  of  the  principle  in  the  very  act 
of  repeal ;  he  observed  at  Boston  the  gathering 
strength  of  what  the  wise  ministers  of  .George  III. 
called  sedition  ;  he  noted  the  arrival  of  British 
troops  in  the  rebellious  Puritan  town  ;  and  he  saw 
plainly  enough,  looming  in  the  background,  the 
final  appeal  to  arms.  He  wrote  to  Mason  (April 
5,  1769),  that  "  at  a  time  when  our  lordly  masters 
in  Great  Britain  will  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less 
than  the  deprivation  of  American  freedom,  some 
thing  should  be  done  to  avert  the  stroke  and  main 
tain  the  liberty  which  we  have  derived  from  our 
ancestors.  But  the  manner  of  doing  it,  to  answer 
the  purpose  effectually,  is  the  point  in  question. 
That  no  man  should  scruple  or  hesitate  a  moment 
to  use  arms  in  defence  of  so  valuable  a  blessing  is 
clearly  my  opinion.  Yet  arms,  I  would  beg  leave 
to  add,  should  be  the  last  resource,  the  dernier  res- 
sort."  He  then  urged  the  adoption  of  the  only 
middle  course,  non-importation,  but  he  had  not 
much  hope  in  this  expedient,  although  an  honest 
desire  is  evident  that  it  may  prove  effectual. 

When  the  assembly  met  in  May.  they  received 
the  new  governor,  Lord  Botetourt,  with  much 
cordiality,  and  then  fell  to  passing  spirited  and 


118  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

sharp-spoken  resolutions  declaring  their  own  rights 
and  defending  Massachusetts.  The  result  was  a 
dissolution.  Thereupon  the  burgesses  repaired  to 
the  Raleigh  tavern,  where  they  adopted  a  set  of 
non-importation  resolutions  and  formed  an  associa 
tion.  The  resolutions  were  offered  by  Washing 
ton,  and  were  the  result  of  his  quiet  country  talks 
with  Mason.  When  the  moment  for  action  ar 
rived,  Washington  carne  naturally  to  the  front, 
and  then  returned  quietly  to  Mount  Vernon,  once 
more  to  go  about  his  business  and  watch  the  threat 
ening  political  horizon.  Virginia  did  not  live 
up  to  this  first  non-importation  agreement,  and 
formed  another  a  year  later.  But  Washington 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  presenting  resolutions 
merely  for  effect,  and  there  was  nothing  of  the 
actor  in  his  composition.  His  resolutions  meant 
business,  and  he  lived  up  to  them  rigidly  himself. 
Neither  tea  nor  any  of  the  proscribed  articles  were 
allowed  in  his  house.  Most  of  the  leaders  did  not 
realize  the  seriousness  of  the  situation,  but  Wash 
ington,  looking  forward  with  clear  and  sober  gaze, 
was  in  grim  earnest,  and  was  fully  conscious  that 
when  he  offered  his  resolutions  the  colony  was  try 
ing  the  last  peaceful  remedy,  and  that  the  next  step 
would  be  war. 

Still  he  went  calmly  about  his  many  affairs  as 
usual,  and  gratified  the  old  passion  for  the  frontier 
by  a  journey  to  Pittsburgh  for  the  sake  of  lands 
and  soldiers'  claims,  and  thence  down  the  Ohio  and 
into  the  wilderness  with  his  old  friends  the  trap- 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  11.9 

pers  and  pioneers.  He  visited  the  Indian  villages 
as  in  the  days  of  the  French  mission,  and  noted  in 
the  savages  an  ominous  restlessness,  which  seemed, 
like  the  flight  of  birds,  to  express  the  dumb  instinct 
of  an  approaching  storm.  The  clouds  broke  away 
somewhat  under  the  kindly  management  of  Lord 
Botetourt,  and  then  gathered  again  more  thickly 
on  the  accession  of  his  successor,  Lord  Dunmore. 
With  both  these  gentlemen  Washington  was  on 
the  most  friendly  terms.  He  visited  them  often, 
and  was  consulted  by  them,  as  it  behooved  them  to 
consult  the  strongest  man  within  the  limits  of  their 

o 

government.  Still  he  waited  and  watched,  and 
scanned  carefully  the  news  from  the  North.  Be 
fore  long  he  heard  that  tea-chests  were  floating  in 
Boston  harbor,  and  then  from  across  the  water 
came  intelligence  of  the  passage  of  the  Port  Bill 
and  other  measures  destined  to  crush  to  earth  the 
little  rebel  town. 

When  the  Virginia  assembly  met  again,  they 
proceeded  to  congratulate  the  governor  on  the  ar 
rival  of  Lady  Dunmore,  and  then  suddenly,  as  all 
was  flowing  smoothly  along,  there  carne  a  letter 
through  the  corresponding  committee  which  Wash 
ington  had  helped  to  establish,  telling  of  the  meas 
ures  against  Boston.  Everything  else  was  thrown 
aside  at  once,  a  vigorous  protest  was  entered  on 
the  journal  of  the  House,  and  June  1st,  when  the 
Port  Bill  was  to  go  into  operation,  was  appointed 
a  day  of  fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer.  The 
first  result  was  prompt  dissolution  of  the  assem- 


120  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

bly.  The  next  was  another  meeting  in  the  long 
room  of  the  Raleigh  tavern,  where  the  Boston  bill 
was  denounced,  non-importation  renewed,  and  the 
committee  of  correspondence  instructed  to  take 
steps  for  calling  a  general  congress.  Events  were 
beginning  to  move  at  last  with  perilous  rapidity. 
Washington  dined  with  Lord  Dunmore  on  the 
evening  of  that  day,  rode  with  him,  and  appeared 
at  her  ladyship's  ball  the  next  night.  It  was  not 
his  way  to  bite  his  thumb  at  men  from  whom  he 
differed  politically,  nor  to  call  the  motives  of  his 
opponents  in  question.  But  when  the  1st  of  June 
arrived,  he  noted  in  his  diary  that  he  fasted  all  day 
and  attended  the  appointed  services.  He  always 
meant  what  he  said,  being  of  a  simple  nature,  and 
when  he  fasted  and  prayed  there  was  something 
ominously  earnest  about  it,  something  that  his 
excellency  the  governor,  who  liked  the  society  of 
this  agreeable  man  and  wise  counsellor,  would  have 
done  well  to  consider  and  draw  conclusions  from, 
and  which  he  probably  did  not  heed  at  all.  He 
might  well  have  reflected,  as  he  undoubtedly  failed 
to  do,  that  when  men  of  the  George  Washington 
type  fast  and  pray  on  account  of  political  mis 
doings,  it  is  well  for  their  opponents  to  look  to  it 
carefully. 

Meantime  Boston  had  sent  forth  appeals  to  form 
a  league  among  the  colonies,  and  thereupon  an 
other  meeting  was  held  in  the  Raleigh  tavern,  and 
a  letter  was  dispatched  advising  the  burgesses  to 
consider  this  matter  of  a  general  league  and  take 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE.  121 

the  sense  of  their  respective  counties.  Virginia  and 
Massachusetts  had  joined  hands  now,  and  they 
were  sweeping  the  rest  of  the  continent  irresisti 
bly  forward  with  them.  As  for  Washington,  he 
returned  to  Mount  Vernon  and  at  once  set  about 
taking  the  sense  of  his  county,  as  he  had  agreed. 
Before  doing  so  he  had  some  correspondence  with 
his  old  friend  Bryan  Fairfax.  The  Fairfaxes  nat 
urally  sided  with  the  mother-country,  and  Bryan 
was  much  distressed  by  the  course  of  Virginia, 
and  remonstrated  strongly,  and  at  length  by  letter, 
against  violent  measures.  Washington  replied  to 
him  :  "  Does  it  not  appear  as  clear  as  the  sun  in  its 
meridian  brightness  that  there  is  a  regular,  system 
atic  plan  formed  to  fix  the  right  arid  practice  of 
taxation  on  us  ?  Does  not  the  uniform  conduct  of 
Parliament  for  some  years  past  confirm  this  ?  Do 
not  all  the  debates,  especially  those  just  brought  to 
us  in  the  House  of  Commons,  on  the  side  of  gov 
ernment  expressly  declare  that  America  must  be 
taxed  in  aid  of  the  British  funds,  and  that  she  has 
no  longer  resources  within  herself?  Is  there  any 
thing  to  be  expected  from  petitioning  after  this  ?  Is 
not  the  attack  upon  the  liberty  and  property  of  the 
people  of  Boston,  before  restitution  of  the  loss  to 
the  India  Company  was  demanded,  a  plain  and  self- 
evident  proof  of  what  they  are  aiming  at?  Do 
not  the  subsequent  bills  (now  I  dare  say  acts)  for 
depriving  the  Massachusetts  Bay  of  its  charter, 
and  for  transporting  offenders  into  other  colonies, 
or  to  Great  Britain  for  trial,  where  it  is  impossible 


122  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

from  the  nature  of  the  thing  that  justice  can  be 
obtained,  convince  us  that  the  administration  is 
determined  to  stick  at  nothing  to  carry  its  point  ? 
Ought  we  not,  then,  to  put  our  virtue  and  fortitude 
to  the  severest  test  ?  "  He  was  prepared,  he  con 
tinued,  for  anything  except  confiscating  British 
debts,  which  struck  him  as  dishonorable.  These 
were  plain  but  pregnant  questions,  but  what  we 
mark  in  them,  and  in  all  his  letters  of  this  time, 
is  the  absence  of  constitutional  discussion,  of  which 
America  was  then  full.  They  are  confined  to  a 
direct  presentation  of  the  broad  political  question, 
which  underlay  everything.  Washington  always 
went  straight  to  the  mark,  and  he  now  saw,  through 
all  the  dust  of  legal  and  constitutional  strife,  that 
the  only  real  issue  was  whether  America  was  to  be 
allowed  to  govern  herself  in  her  own  way  or  not. 

O  i/ 

In  the  acts  of  the  ministry  he  perceived  a  policy 
which  aimed  at  substantial  power,  and  he  believed 
that  such  a  policy,  if  insisted  on,  could  have  but 
one  result. 

The  meeting  of  Fairfax  County  was  held  in  due 
course,  and  Washington  presided.  The  usual  reso 
lutions  for  self-government  and  against  the  vindic 
tive  Massachusetts  measures  were  adopted.  Union 
and  non-importation  were  urged ;  and  then  the 
congress,  which  they  advocated,  was  recommended 
to  address  a  petition  and  remonstrance  to  the  king, 
and  ask  him  to  reflect  that  "  from  our  sovereign 
there  can  be  but  one  appeal."  Everything  was  to 
be  tried,  everything  was  to  be  done,  but  the  ulti- 


LOVE  AND   MARRIAGE.  123 

mate  appeal  was  never  lost  sight  of  where  Wash 
ington  appeared,  and  the  final  sentence  of  these 
Fairfax  County  resolves  is  very  characteristic  of  the 
leader  in  the  meeting.  Two  days  later  he  wrote 
to  the  worthy  and  still  remonstrating  Bryan  Fair 
fax,  repeating  and  enlarging  his  former  questions, 
and  adding :  "  Has  not  General  Gage's  conduct 
since  his  arrival,  in  stopping  the  address  of  his 
council,  and  publishing  a  proclamation  more  be 
coming  a  Turkish  bashaw  than  an  English  gover 
nor,  declaring  it  treason  to  associate  in  any  man 
ner  by  which  the  commerce  of  Great  Britain  is  to 
be  affected,  —  has  not  this  exhibited  an  unexampled 
testimony  of  the  most  despotic  system  of  tyranny 
that  ever  was  practised  in  a  free  government  ?  .  .  . 
Shall  we  after  this  whine  and  cry  for  relief,  when 
we  have  already  tried  it  in  vain?  Or  shall  we 
supinely  sit  and  see  one  province  after  another  fall 
a  sacrifice  to  despotism?"  The  fighting  spirit  of 
the  man  was  rising.  There  was  no  rash  rushing 
forward,  no  ignorant  shouting  for  war,  no  blinking 
of  the  real  issue,  but  a  foresight  that  nothing  could 
dim,  and  a  perception  of  facts  which  nothing  could 
confuse. 

On  August  1st  Washington  was  at  Williams- 
burg,  to  represent  his  county  in  the  meeting  of 
representatives  from  all  Virginia.  The  conven 
tion  passed  resolutions  like  the  Fairfax  resolves, 
and  chose  delegates  to  a  general  congress.  The 
silent  man  was  now  warming  into  action.  He 
"  made  the  most  eloquent  speech  that  ever  was 


124  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

made,"  and  said,  "  I  will  raise  a  thousand  men,  sub 
sist  them  at  my  own  expense,  and  march  them  to 
the  relief  of  Boston."  He  was  capable,  it  would 
seem,  of  talking*  to  the  purpose  with  some  fire  and 
force,  for  all  he  was  so  quiet  and  so  retiring.  When 
there  was  anything  to  say,  he  could  say  it  so  that 
it  stirred  all  who  listened,  because  they  felt  that 
there  was  a  mastering  strength  behind  the  words. 
He  faced  the  terrible  issue  solemnly  and  firmly,  but 
his  blood  was  up,  the  fighting  spirit  in  him  was 
aroused,  and  the  convention  chose  him  as  one  of 
Virginia's  six  delegates  to  the  Continental  Con 
gress.  He  lingered  long  enough  to  make  a  few 
preparations  at  Mount  Vernon.  He  wrote  another 
letter  to  Fairfax,  interesting  to  us  as  showing  the 
keenness  with  which  he  read  in  the  meagre  news- 
reports  the  character  of  Gage  and  of  the  opposing 
people  of  Massachusetts.  Then  he  started  for  the 
North  to  take  the  first  step  on  the  long  and  diffi 
cult  path  that  lay  before  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TAKING   COMMAND. 

IN  the  warm  days  of  closing  August,  a  party  of 
three  gentlemen  rode  away  from  Mount  Vernon  one 
morning,  and  set  out  upon  their  long  journey  to 
Philadelphia.  One  cannot  help  wondering  whether 
a  tender  and  somewhat  sad  remembrance  did  not 
rise  in  Washington's  mind,  as  he  thought  of  the 
last  time  he  had  gone  northward,  nearly  twenty 
years  before.  Then,  he  was  a  light-hearted  young- 
soldier,  and  he  and  his  aides,  albeit  they  went  on 
business,  rode  gayly  through  the  forests,  lighting 
the  road  with  the  bright  colors  they  wore  and  with 
the  glitter  of  lace  and  arms,  while  they  anticipated 
all  the  pleasures  of  youth  in  the  new  lands  they 
were  to  visit.  Now,  he  was  in  the  prime  of  man 
hood,  looking  into  the  future  with  prophetic  eyes, 
and  sober  as  was  his  wont  when  the  shadow  of  com 
ing  responsibility  lay  dark  upon  his  path.  With 
him  went  Patrick  Henry,  four  years  his  junior,  and 
Edmund  Pendleton,  now  past  threescore.  They 
were  all  quiet  and  grave  enough,  no  doubt;  but 
Washington,  we  may  believe,  was  gravest  of  all, 
because,  being  the  most  truthful  of  men  to  'him 
self  as  to  others,  he  saw  more  plainly  what  was 
coming.  So  they  made  their  journey  to  the  North, 


126  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

and  on  the  memorable  5th  of  September  they  met 
with  their  brethren  from  the  other  colonies  in  Car 
penters'  Hall  in  Philadelphia. 

The  Congress  sat  fifty-one  days,  occupied  with 
debates  and  discussion.  Few  abler,  more  honest, 
or  more  memorable  bodies  of  men  have  ever  as 
sembled  to  settle  the  fate  of  nations.  Much  de 
bate,  great  and  earnest  in  all  directions,  resulted 
in  a  declaration  of  colonial  rights,  in  an  address  to 
the  king,  in  another  to  the  people  of  Canada,  and 
a  third  to  the  people  of  Great  Britain  ;  masterly 
state  papers,  seldom  surpassed,  and  extorting  even 
then  the  admiration  of  England.  In  these  debates 
and  state  papers  Washington  took  no  part  that  is 
now  apparent  on  the  face  of  the  record.  He  was 
silent  in  the  Congress,  and  if  he  wras  consulted,  as 
lie  unquestionably  was  by  the  committees,  there  is 
no  record  of  it  now.  The  simple  fact  was  that  his 
time  had  not  come.  He  saw  men  of  the  most 
acute  minds,  liberal  in  education,  patriotic  in  heart, 
trained  in  law  and  in  history,  doing  the  work  of 
the  moment  in  the  best  possible  way.  If  anything 
had  been  done  wrongly,  or  had  been  left  undone, 
Washington  would  have  found  his  voice  quickly 
enough,  and  uttered  another  of  the  "  most  eloquent 
speeches  ever  made,"  as  he  did  shortly  before  in 
the  Virginia  convention.  He  could  speak  in  public 
when  need  was,  but  now  there  was  no  need  and 
nothing  to  arouse  him.  The  work  of  Congress 
followed  the  line  of  policy  adopted  by  the  Virginia 
convention,  and  that  had  proceeded  along  the  path 


TAKING   COMM 


marked  out  in  the  Fairfax  resolves,  so  that  Wash 
ington  could  not  foe  other  than  content.  He  occu 
pied  his  own  time,  as  we  see  by  notes  in  his  diary, 
in  visiting  the  delegates  from  the  other  colonies, 
and  in  informing  himself  as  to  their  ideas  and  pur 
poses,  and  those  of  the  people  whom  they  repre 
sented.  He  was  quietly  working  for  the  future, 
the  present  being  well  taken  care  of.  Yet  this  si 
lent  man,  going  hither  and  thither,  and  chatting 
pleasantly  with  this  member  or  that,  was  in  some 
way  or  other  impressing  himself  deeply  on  all  the 
delegates,  for  Patrick  Henry  said  :  "  If  you  speak 
of  solid  information  and  sound  judgment,  Colonel 
Washington  is  unquestionably  the  greatest  man  on 
the  floor." 

We  have  a  letter,  written  at  just  this  time,  which 
shows  us  how  Washington  felt,  and  we  see  again 
how  his  spirit  rose  as  he  saw  more  and  more  clearly 
that  the  ultimate  issue  was  inevitable.  The  letter 
is  addressed  to  Captain  Mackenzie,  a  British  officer 
at  Boston,  and  an  old  friend.  "  Permit  me,"  he 
began,  "  with  the  freedom  of  a  friend  (for  you 
know  I  always  esteemed  you"),  to  express  my  sor 
row  that  fortune  should  place  you  in  a  service  that 
must  fix  curses  to  the  latest  posterity  upon  the 
contrivers,  and,  if  success  (which,  by  the  by,  is  im 
possible)  accompanies  it,  execrations  upon  all  those 
who  have  been  instrumental  in  the  execution." 
This  was  rather  uncompromising  talk  and  not  over 
peaceable,  it  must  be  confessed.  He  continued : 
"Give  me  leave  to  add,  and  I  think  I  can  an- 


128  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

nounce  it  as  a  fact,  that  it  is  not  the  wish  or  intent 
of  that  government  [Massachusetts],  or  any  other 
upon  this  continent,  separately  or  collectively,  to 
set  up  for  independence ;  but  this  you  may  at  the 
same  time  rely  on,  that  none  of  them  will  ever  sub 
mit  to  the  loss  of  those  valuable  rights  and  privi 
leges  which  are  essential  to  the  happiness  of  every 
free  state,  and  without  which  life,  liberty,  and 
property  are  rendered  totally  insecure.  .  .  .  Again 
give  me  leave  to  add  as  my  opinion  that  more 
blood  will  be  spilled  on  this  occasion,  if  the  minis 
try  are  determined  to  push  matters  to  extremity, 
than  history  has  ever  yet  furnished  instances  of 
in  the  annals  of  North  America,  and  such  a  vital 
wound  will  be  given  to  the  peace  of  this  great  coun 
try,  as  time  itself  cannot  cure  or  eradicate  the  re 
membrance  of."  Washington  was  not  a  political 
agitator  like  Sam  Adams,  planning  with  unerring 
intelligence  to  bring  about  independence.  On  the 
contrary,  he  rightly  declared  that  independence  was 
not  desired.  But  although  he  believed  in  exhaust 
ing  every  argument  and  every  peaceful  remedy,  it 
is  evident  that  he  felt  that  there  now  could  be  but 
one  result,  and  that  violent  separation  from  the 
mother  country  was  inevitable.  Here  is  where  he 
differed  from  his  associates  and  from  the  great 
mass  of  the  people,  and  it  is  to  this  entire  veracity 
of  mind  that  his  wisdom  and  foresight  were  so 
largely  due,  as  well  as  his  success  when  the  time 
came  for  him  to  put  his  hand  to  the  plough. 


TAKING   COMMAND.  129 

When  Congress  adjourned, Washington  returned 
to  Mount  Vernori,  to  the  pursuits  and  pleasures  that 
he  loved,  to  his  family  and  farm,  and  to  his  horses 
and  hounds,  with  whom  he  had  many  a  good  run, 
the  last  that  he  was  to  enjoy  for  years  to  come. 
He  returned  also  to  wait  and  watch  as  before,  and 
to  see  war  rapidly  gather  in  the  east.  When  the 
Virginia  convention  again  assembled,  resolutions 
were  introduced  to  arm  and  discipline  men,  and 
Henry  declared  in  their  support  that  an  "  appeal 
to  arms  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts "  was  all  that 
was  left.  Washington  said  nothing,  but  he  served 
on  the  committee  to  draft  a  plan  of  defence,  and 
then  fell  to  reviewing  the  independent  companies 
which  were  springing  up  everywhere.  At  the  same 
time  he  wrote  to  his  brother  John,  who  had  raised 
a  troop,  that  he  would  accept  the  command  of  it  if 
desired,  as  it  was  his  "  full  intention  to  devote  his 
life  and  fortune  in  the  cause  we  are  engaged  in,  if 
needful."  At  Mount  Vernon  his  old  comrades  of 
the  French  war  began  to  appear,  in  search  of  cour 
age  and  sympathy.  Thither,  too,  came  Charles 
Lee,  a  typical  military  adventurer  of  that  period, 
a  man  of  English  birth  and  of  varied  service, 
brilliant,  whimsical,  and  unbalanced.  There  also 
came  Horatio  Gates,  likewise  British,  and  disap 
pointed  with  his  prospects  at  home ;  less  adventur 
ous  than  Lee,  but  also  less  brilliant,  and  not  much 
more  valuable. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away ;  spring  opened, 
and  toward  the  end  of  April  Washington  started 


130  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

again  for  the  North,  much  occupied  with  certain  tid 
ings  from  Lexington  and  Concord  which  just  then 
spread  over  the  land.  He  saw  all  that  it  meant 
plainly  enough,  and  after  noting  the  fact  that  the 
colonists  fought  and  fought  well,  he  wrote  to 
George  Fairfax  in  England :  "  Unhappy  it  is  to 
reflect  that  a  brother's  sword  has  been  sheathed 
in  a  brother's  breast,  and  that  the  once  happy 
and  peaceful  plains  of  America  are  either  to  be 
drenched  in  blood  or  inhabited  by  slaves.  Sad  al 
ternative.  But  can  a  virtuous  man  hesitate  in  his 
choice  ?  "  Congress,  it  would  seem,  thought  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  room  for  hesitation,  both  for 
virtuous  men  and  others,  and  after  the  fashion  of 
their  race  determined  to  do  a  little  more  debat 
ing  and  arguing,  before  taking  any  decisive  step. 
After  much  resistance  and  discussion,  a  second 
"  humble  and  dutiful  petition  "  to  the  king  was 
adopted,  and  with  strange  contradiction  a  confeder 
ation  was  formed  at  the  same  time,  and  Congress 
proceeded  to  exercise  the  sovereign  powers  thus 
vested  in  them.  The  most  pressing  and  trouble 
some  question  before  them  was  what  to  do  with  the 
army  surrounding  Boston,  and  with  the  actual  hos 
tilities  there  existing. 

Washington,  for  his  part,  went  quietly  about  as 
before,  saying  nothing  and  observing  much,  work 
ing  hard  as  chairman  of  the  military  committees, 
planning  for  defence,  and  arranging  for  raising  an 
army.  One  act  of  his  alone  stands  out  for  us  with 
significance  at  this  critical  time.  In  this  second 


TAKING   COMMAND.  131 

Congress  he  appeared  habitually  on  the  floor  in  his 
blue  and  buff  uniform  of  a  Virginia  colonel.  It 
was  his  way  of  saying  that  the  hour  for  action  had 
come,  and  that  he  at  least  was  ready  for  the  fight 
whenever  called  upon. 

Presently  he  was  summoned.  Weary  of  waiting, 
John  Adams  at  last  declared  that  Congress  must 
adopt  the  army  and  make  Washington,  who  at  this 
mention  of  his  name  stepped  out  of  the  room, 
comrnander-iii-chief.  On  June  15th,  formal  mo 
tions  were  made  to  this  effect  and  unanimously 
adopted,  and  the  next  day  Washington  appeared 
before  Congress  and  accepted  the  trust.  His  words 
were  few  and  simple.  He  expressed  his  sense  of 
his  own  insufficiency  for  the  task  before  him,  and 
said  that  as  no  pecuniary  consideration  could  have 
induced  him  to  undertake  the  work,  he  must  decline 
all  pay  or  emoluments,  only  looking  to  Congress  to 
defray  his  expenses.  In  the  same  spirit  he  wrote 
to  his  soldiers  in  Virginia,  to  his  brother,  and 
finally,  in  terms  at  once  simple  and  pathetic,  to  his 
wife.  There  was  no  pretence  about  this,  but  the 
sternest  reality  of  self-distrust,  for  Washington 
saw  and  measured  as  did  no  one  else  the  magni 
tude  of  the  work  before  him.  He  knew  that  he 
was  about  to  face  the  best  troops  of  Europe,  and 
he  had  learned  by  experience  that  after  the  first  ex 
citement  was  over  he  would  be  obliged  to  rely  upon 
a  people  brave  and  patriotic,  it  is  true,  but  undis 
ciplined,  untrained,  and  unprepared  for  war,  with 
out  money,  without  arms,  without  allies  or  credit, 


132  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

and  torn  by  selfish  local  interests.  Nobody  else 
perceived  all  this  as  he  was  able  to  with  his  mastery 
of  facts,  but  he  faced  the  duty  unflinchingly.  He 
did  not  put  it  aside  because  he  distrusted  himself, 
for  in  his  truthfulness  he  could  not  but  confess 
that  no  other  American  could  show  one  tithe  of  his 
capacity,  experience,  or  military  service.  He  knew 
what  was  coming,  knew  it,  no  doubt,  when  he  first 
put  on  his  uniform,  and  he  accepted  instantly. 

John  Adams  in  his  autobiography  speaks  of  the 
necessity  of  choosing  a  Southern  general,  and  also 
says  there  were  objectors  to  the  selection  of  Wash 
ington  even  among  the  Virginia  delegates.  That 
there  were  political  reasons  for  taking  a  Virginian 
cannot  be  doubted.  But  the  dissent,  even  if  it  ex 
isted,  never  appeared  on  the  surface,  excepting  in 
the  case  of  John  Hancock,  who,  with  curious  van 
ity,  thought  that  he  ought  to  have  this  great  place. 
When  Washington's  name  was  proposed  there  was 
no  murmur  of  opposition,  for  there  was  no  man 
who  could  for  one  moment  be  compared  with  him 
in  fitness.  The  choice  was  inevitable,  and  he  him 
self  felt  it  to  be  so.  He  saw  it  coming ;  he  would 
fain  have  avoided  the  great  task,  but  no  thought  of 
shrinking  crossed  his  mind.  He  saw  with  his  en 
tire  freedom  from  constitutional  subtleties  that  an 
absolute  parliament  sought  to  extend  its  power  to 
the  colonies.  To  this  he  would  not  submit,  and  he 
knew  that  this  was  a  question  which  could  be  set 
tled  only  by  one  side  giving  way,  or  by  the  dread 
appeal  to  arms.  It  was  a  question  of  fact,  hard, 


TAKING   COMMAND,  133 

unrelenting  fact,  now  to  be  determined  by  battle, 
and  on  him  had  fallen  the  burden  of  sustaining  the 
cause  of  his  country.  In  this  spirit  he  accepted  his 
commission,  and  rode  forth  to  review  the  troops. 
He  was  greeted  with  loud  acclaim  wherever  he  ap 
peared.  Mankind  is  impressed  by  externals,  and 
those  who  gazed  upon  Washington  in  the  streets  of 
Philadelphia  felt  their  courage  rise  and  their  hearts 
grow  strong  at  the  sight  of  his  virile,  muscular 
figure  as  he  passed  before  them  on  horseback, 
stately,  dignified,  and  self-contained.  The  people 
looked  upon  him,  and  were  confident  that  this  was 
a  man  worthy  and  able  to  dare  and  do  all  things. 

On  June  21st  he  set  forth  accompanied  by  Lee 
and  Schuyler,  and  with  a  brilliant  escort.  He  had 
ridden  but  twenty  miles  when  he  was  met  by  the 
news  of  Bunker  Hill.  "Did  the  militia  fight?" 
was  the  immediate  and  characteristic  question;  and 
being  told  that  they  did  fight,  he  exclaimed,  "  Then 
the  liberties  of  the  country  are  safe."  Given  the 
fighting  spirit,  Washington  felt  he  could  do  any 
thing.  Full  of  this  important  intelligence  he 
pressed  forward  to  Newark,  where  he  was  received 
by  a  committee  of  the  provincial  congress,  sent  to 
conduct  the  Commander-in-chief  to  New  York. 
There  he  tarried  long  enough  to  appoint  Schuyler 
to  the  charge  of  the  military  affairs  in  that  colony, 
having  mastered  on  the  journey  its  complicated  so 
cial  and  political  conditions.  Pushing  on  through 
Connecticut  he  reached  Watertown,  where  he  was 
received  by  the  provincial  congress  of  Massachu- 


134  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

setts,  on  July  2d,  with  every  expression  of  attach 
ment  and  confidence.  Lingering  less  than  an  hour 
for  this  ceremony,  he  rode  on  to  the  headquarters  at 
Cambridge,  and  when  he  came  within  the  lines  the 
shouts  of  the  soldiers  and  the  booming  of  cannon 
announced  his  arrival  to  the  English  in  Boston. 

The  next  day  he  rode  forth  in  the  presence  of  a 
great  multitude,  and  the  troops  having  been  drawn 
up  before  him,  he  drew  his  sword  beneath  the  his 
torical  elm-tree,  and  took  command  of  the  first 
American  army.  "  His  excellency,"  wrote  Dr. 
Thatcher  in  his  journal,  "  was  on  horseback  in 
company  with  several  military  gentlemen.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  distinguish  him  from  all  others. 
He  is  tall  and  well  proportioned,  and  his  personal 
appearance  truly  noble  and  majestic."  "  He  is  tall 
and  of  easy  and  agreeable  address,"  the  loyalist 
Curwen  had  remarked  a  few  weeks  before ;  while 
Mrs.  John  Adams,  warm-hearted  and  clever,  wrote 
to  her  husband  after  the  general's  arrival :  "  Dig 
nity,  ease,  and  complacency,  the  gentleman  and  the 
soldier,  look  agreeably  blended  in  him.  Modesty 
marks  every  line  and  feature  of  his  face.  Those 
lines  of  Dryden  instantly  occurred  to  me, — 

'  Mark  his  majestic  fabric  !     He  's  a  temple 
Sacred  by  birth,  and  built  by  hands  divine  ; 
His  soul 's  the  deity  that  lodges  there  ; 
Nor  is  the  pile  unworthy  of  the  God.'  ' ' 

Lady,  lawyer,  and  surgeon,  patriot  and  tory,  all 
speak  alike,  and  as  they  wrote  so  New  England 
felt.  A  slave-owner,  an  aristocrat,  and  a  church- 


TAKING   COMMAND.  135 

man,  Washington  came  to  Cambridge  to  pass  over 
the  heads  of  native  generals  to  the  command  of  a 
New  England  army,  among  a  democratic  people, 
hard-working  and  simple  in  their  lives,  and  dissent 
ers  to  the  backbone,  who  regarded  episcopacy  as 
something  little  short  of  papistry  and  quite  equiva 
lent  to  toryism.  Yet  the  shout  that  went  up  from 
soldiers  and  people  on  Cambridge  common  on  that 
pleasant  July  morning  came  from  the  heart  and 
had.no  jarring  note.  A  few  of  the  political  chiefs 
growled  a  little  in  later  days  at  Washington,  but 
the  soldiers  and  the  people,  high  and  low,  rich  and 
poor,  gave  him  an  unstinted  loyalty.  On  the  fields 
of  battle  and  throughout  eight  years  of  political 
strife  the  men  of  New  England  stood  by  the  great 
Virginian  with  a  devotion  and  truth  in  which  was 
no  shadow  of  turning.  Here  again  we  see  exhibited 
most  conspicuously  the  powerful  personality  of  the 
man  who  was  able  thus  to  command  immediately 
the  allegiance  of  this  naturally  cold  and  reserved 
people.  What  was  it  that  they  saw  that  inspired 
them  at  once  with  so  much  confidence  ?  They  looked 
upon  a  tall,  handsome  man,  dressed  in  plain  uni 
form,  wearing  across  his  breast  a  broad  blue  band 
of  silk,  which  some  may  have  noticed  as  the  badge 
and  symbol  of  a  certain  solemn  league  and  cove 
nant  once  very  momentous  in  the  English-speaking 
world.  They  saw  his  'calm,  high  bearing,  and  in 
every  line  of  face  and  figure  they  beheld  the  signs 
of  force  and  courage.  Yet  there  must  have  been 
something  more  to  call  forth  the  confidence  then 


136  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

so  quickly  given,  and  which  no  one  ever  long  with 
held.  All  felt  dimly,  but  none  the  less  surely,  that 
here  was  a  strong,  able  man,  capable  of  rising  to 
the  emergency,  whatever  it  might  be,  capable  of 
continued  growth  and  development,  clear  of  head 
and  warm  of  heart ;  and  so  the  New  England  peo 
ple  gave  to  him  instinctively  their  sympathy  and 
their  faith,  and  never  took  either  back. 

The  shouts  and  cheers  died  away,  and  then 
Washington  returned  to  his  pleasant  quarterp  in 
the  Craigie  house,  to  master  the  task  before  him. 
The  first  great  test  of  his  courage  and  ability  had 
come,  and  he  faced  .it  quietly  as  the  excitement 
caused  by  his  arrival  passed  by.  He  saw  before 
him,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  a  mixed  multitude  of 
people,  under  very  little  discipline,  order,  or  govern 
ment."  In  the  language  of  one  of  his  aides:1  "The 
entire  army,  if  it  deserved  the  name,  was  but  an 
assemblage  of  brave,  enthusiastic,  undisciplined, 
country  lads  ;  the  officers  in  general  quite  as  igno 
rant  of  military  life  as  the  troops,  excepting  a  few 
elderly  men,  who  had  seen  some  irregular  service 
among  the  provincials  under  Lord  Amherst."  With 
this  force,  ill-posted  and  very  insecurely  fortified, 
Washington  was  to  drive  the  British  from  Boston. 
His  first  step  was  to  count  his  men,  and  it  took  eight 
days  to  get  the  necessary  returns,  which  in  an  ordi 
nary  army  would  have  been  furnished  in  an  hour. 
When  he  had  them,  he  found  that  instead  of  twenty 
thousand,  as  had  been  represented,  but  fourteen 

1  John  Trurabull,  Reminiscences,  p.  18. 


TAKING   COMMAND.  137 

thousand  soldiers  were  actually  present  for  duty.  In 
a  short  time,  however,  Mr.  Emerson,  the  chaplain, 
noted  in  his  diary  that  it  was  surprising  how  much 
had  been  done,  and  that  the  lines  had  been  so  ex 
tended,  and  the  works  so  shrewdly  built,  that  it  was 
morally  impossible  for  the  enemy  to  get  out  except 
in  one  place  purposely  left  open.  A  little  later  the 
same  observer  remarked :  "  There  is  a  great  over 
turning  in  the  camp  as  to  order  and  regularity  ; 
new  lords,  new  laws.  The  Generals  Washington 
and  Lee  are  upon  the  lines  every  day.  The  strict 
est  government  is  taking  place,  and  great  distinc 
tion  is  made  between  officers  and  soldiers."  Bodies 
of  troops  scattered  here  and  there  by  chance  were 
replaced  by  well-distributed  forces,  posted  wisely 
and  effectively  in  strong  intrenchments.  It  is  little 
wonder  that  the  worthy  chaplain  was  impressed, 
and  now,  seeing  it  all  from  every  side,  we  too  can 
watch  order  come  out  of  chaos  and  mark  the  growth 
of  an  army  under  the  guidance  of  a  master-mind 
and  the  steady  pressure  of  an  unbending  will. 

Then  too  there  was  no  discipline,  for  the  army 
was  composed  of  raw  militia,  who  elected  their 
officers  and  carried  on  war  as  they  pleased.  In 
a  passage  suppressed  by  Mr.  Sparks,  Washington 
said :  "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  getting  officers  of 
this  stamp  to  carry  orders  into  execution  —  to  curry 
favor  with  the  men  (by  whom  they  were  chosen, 
and  on  whose  smile  they  may  possibly  think  that 
they  may  again  rely)  seems  to  be  one  of  the  -prin 
cipal  objects  of  their  attention.  I  have  made  a 


138  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

pretty  good  slam  amongst  such  kind  of  officers  as 
the  Massachusetts  government  abounds  in,  since  I 
came  into  this  camp,  having  broke  one  colonel  and 
two  captains  for  cowardly  behavior  in  the  action 
on  Bunker  Hill,  two  captains  for  drawing  more  pay 
and  provisions  than  they  had  men  in  their  company, 
and  one  for  being  absent  from  his  post  when  the 
enemy  appeared  there  and  burnt  a  house  just  by  it. 
Besides  these  I  have  at  this  time  one  colonel,  one 
major,  one  captain,  and  two  subalterns  under  arrest 
for  trial.  In  short,  I  spare  none,  and  yet  fear  it 
will  not  all  do,  as  these  people  seem  to  be  too 
attentive  to  everything  but  their  own  interests." 
This  may  be  plain  and  homely  in  phrase,  but  it  is 
not  stilted,  and  the  quick  energy  of  the  words 
shows  how  the  New  England  farmers  and  fisher 
men  were  being  rapidly  brought  to  discipline. 
Bringing  the  army  into  order,  however,  was  but  a 
small  part  of  his  duties.  It  is  necessary  to  run 
over  all  his  difficulties,  great  and  small,  at  this  time, 
and  count  them  up,  in  order  to  gain  a  just  idea  of 
the  force  and  capacity  of  the  man  who  overcame 
them. 

Washington,  moreover,  was  obliged  to  deal  not 
only  with  his  army,  but  with  the  general  congress 
and  the  congress  of  the  province.  He  had  to  teach 
them,  utterly  ignorant  as  they  were  of  the  needs 
and  details  of  war,  how  to  organize  and  supply  their 
armies.  There  was  no  commissary  department, 
there  were  no  uniforms,  no  arrangements  for  am 
munition,  no  small  arms,  no  cannon,  no  resources 


TAKING   COMMAND.  139 

to  draw  upon  for  all  these  necessaries  of  war.  Lit 
tle  by  little  he  taught  Congress  to  provide  after  a 
fashion  for  these  things,  little  by  little  he  developed 
what  he  needed,  and  by  his  own  ingenuity,  and  by 
seizing  alertly  every  suggestion  from  others,  he 
supplied  for  better  or  worse  one  deficiency  after 
another.  He  had  to  deal  with  various  governors 
and  various  colonies,  each  with  its  prejudices,  jeal 
ousies,  and  shortcomings.  He  had  to  arrange  for 
new  levies  from  a  people  unused  to  war,  and  to 
settle  with  infinite  anxiety  and  much  wear  and  tear 
of  mind  and  body,  the  conflict  as  to  rank  among 
officers  to  whom  he  could  apply  no  test  but  his 
own  insight.  He  had  to  organize  and  stimulate 
the  arming  of  privateers,  which,  by  preying  on 
British  commerce,  were  destined  to  exercise  such  a 
powerful  influence  on  the  fate  of  the  war.  It  was 
neither  showy  nor  attractive,  such  work  as  this,  but 
it  was  very  vital,  and  it  was  done. 

By  the  end  of  July  the  army  was  in  a  better 
posture  of  defence,  and  then  at  the  beginning  of 
the  next  month,  as  the  prospect  was  brightening, 
it  was  suddenly  discovered  that  there  was  no  gun 
powder.  An  undrilled  army,  imperfectly  organized, 
was  facing  a  disciplined  force  and  had  only  some 
nine  rounds  in  the  cartridge-boxes.  Yet  there  is  no 
quivering  in  the  letters  from  headquarters.  Anx 
iety  and  strain  of  nerve  are  apparent ;  but  a  resolute 
determination  rises  over  all,  supported  by  a  ready 
fertility  of  resource.  Couriers  flew  over  the  coun 
try  asking  for  powder  in  every  town  and  in  every 


140  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

village.  A  vessel  was  even  dispatched  to  the  Ber 
mudas  to  seize  there  a  supply  of  powder,  of  which 
the  general,  always  listening,  had  heard.  Thus 
the  immediate  and  grinding  pressure  was  presently 
relieved,  but  the  staple  of  war  still  remained  piti 
fully  and  perilously  meagre  all  through  the  winter. 
Meantime,  while  thus  overwhelmed  with  the  cares 
immediately  about  him,  Washington  was  watch 
ing  the  rest  of  the  country.  He  had  a  keen  eye 
upon  Johnson  and  his  Indians  in  the  valley  of  the 
Mohawk  ;  he  followed  sharply  every  movement  of 
Tryon  and  the  Tories  in  New  York  ;  he  refused 
with  stern  good  sense  to  detach  troops  to  Con 
necticut  and  Long  Island,  knowing  well  when  to 
give  and  when  to  say  No,  a  difficult  monosyllable 
for  the  new  general  of  freshly  revolted  colonies. 
But  if  he  would  not  detach  in  one  place,  he  was 
ready  enough  to  do  so  in  another.  He  sent  one 
expedition  by  Lake  Champlain,  under  Montgom 
ery,  to  Montreal,  and  gave  Arnold  picked  troops 
to  march  through  the  wilds  of  Maine  and  strike 
Quebec.  The  scheme  was  bold  and  brilliant,  both 
in  conception  and  in  execution,  and  came  very 
near  severing  Canada  forever  from  the  British 
crown.  A  chapter  of  little  accidents,  each  one  of 
which  proved  as  fatal  as  it  was  unavoidable,  a  mo 
ment's  delay  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  and  the 
whole  campaign  failed ;  but  there  was  a  grasp  of 
conditions,  a  clearness  of  perception,  and  a  com 
prehensiveness  about  the  plan,  which  stamp  it  as 
the  work  of  a  great  soldier,  who  saw  besides  the 


TAKING   COMMAND.  141 

military  importance,  the  enormous  political  value 
held  out  by  the  chance  of  such  a  victory. 

The  daring,  far-reaching  quality  of  this  Cana 
dian  expedition  was  much  more  congenial  to  Wash 
ington's  temper  and  character  than  the  wearing 
work  of  the  siege.  All  that  man  could  do  before 
Boston  was  done,  and  still  Congress  expected  the 
impossible,  and  grumbled  because  without  ships 
he  did  not  secure  the  harbor.  He  himself,  while 
he  inwardly  resented  such  criticism,  chafed  under 
the  monotonous  drudgery  of  the  intrenchments. 
He  was  longing,  according  to  his  nature,  to  fight, 
and  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  quite  ready  to  at 
tempt  the  impossible  in  his  own  way.  Early  in 
September  he  proposed  to  attack  the  town  in  boats 
and  by  the  neck  of  land  at  Roxbury,  but  the  coun 
cil  of  officers  unanimously  voted  against  him.  A 
little  more  than  a  month  later  he  planned  another 
attack,  and  was  again  voted  down  by  his  officers. 
Councils  of  war  never  fight,  it  is  said,  and  perhaps 
in  this  case  it  was  well  that  such  was  their  habit, 
for  the  schemes  look  rather  desperate  now.  To  us 
they  serve  to  show  the  temper  of  the  man,  and  also 
his  self-control,  for  Washington  was  ready  enough 
to  override  councils  when  wholly  free  from  doubt 
himself. 

Thus  the  planning  of  campaigns,  both  distant 
and  near,  went  on,  and  at  the  same  time  the  cur 
rent  of  details,  difficult,  vital,  absolute  in  demand 
ing  prompt  and  vigorous  solution,  went  on  too. 
The  existence  of  war  made  it  necessary  to  settle 


142  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

our  relations  with  our  enemies,  and  that  these  rela 
tions  should  be  rightly  settled  was  of  vast  moment 
to  our  cause,  struggling  for  recognition.  The  first 
question  was  the  matter  of  prisoners,  and  on  Au 
gust  llth  Washington  wrote  to  Gage  :  — 

" 1  understand  that  the  officers  engaged  in  the 
cause  of  liberty  and  their  country,  who  by  the  for 
tune  of  war  have  fallen  into  your  hands,  have  been 
thrown  indiscriminately  into  a  common  gaol  ap 
propriated  for  felons ;  that  no  consideration  has 
been  had  for  those  of  the  most  respectable^  rank, 
when  languishing  with  wounds  and  sickness ;  and 
that  some  have  been  even  amputated  in  this  un 
worthy  situation. 

"  Let  your  opinion,  sir,  of  the  principle  which 
actuates  them  be  what  it  may,  they  suppose  that 
they  act  from  the  noblest  of  all  principles,  a  love 
of  freedom  and  their  country.  But  political  prin 
ciples,  I  conceive,  are  foreign  to  this  point.  The 
obligations  arising  from  the  rights  of  humanity 
and  claims  of  rank  are  universally  binding  and 
extensive,  except  in  case  of  retaliation.  These,  I 
should  have  hoped,  would  have  dictated  a  more 
tender  treatment  of  those  individuals  whom  chance 
or  war  had  put  in  your  power.  Nor  can  I  forbear 
suggesting  its  fatal  tendency  to  widen  that  un 
happy  breach  which  you,  and  those  ministers  un 
der  whom  you  act,  have  repeatedly  declared  your 
wish  is  to  see  forever  closed. 

"  My  duty  now  makes  it  necessary  to  apprise 
you,  that  for  the  future  I  shall  regulate  all  my 


TAKING   COMMAND.  143 

conduct  towards  those  gentlemen  who  are  or  may 
be  in  our  possession,  exactly  by  the  rule  you  shall 
observe  towards  those  of  ours  now  in  your  custody. 

"  If  severity  and  hardship  mark  the  line  of  your 
conduct,  painful  as  it  may  be  to  me,  your  prisoners 
will  feel  its  effects.  But  if  kindness  and  humanity 
are  shown  to  ours,  I  shall  with  pleasure  consider 
those  in  our  hands  only  as  unfortunate,  and  they 
shall  receive  from  me  that  treatment  to  which  the 
unfortunate  are  ever  entitled." 

This  is  a  letter  worthy  of  a  little  study.  The 
affair  does  not  look  very  important  now,  but  it 
went  then  to  the  roots  of  things  ;  for  this  letter 
would  go  out  to  the  world,  and  America  and  the 
American  cause  would  be  judged  by  their  leader. 
A  little  bluster  or  ferocity,  any  fine  writing,  or  any 
absurdity,  and  the  world  would  have  sneered,  con 
demned,  or  laughed.  But  no  man  could  read  this 
letter  and  fail  to  perceive  that  here  was  dignity 
and  force,  justice  and  sense,  with  just  a  touch  of 
pathos  and  eloquence  to  recommend  it  to  the  heart. 
Men  might  differ  with  the  writer,  but  they  could 
neither  laugh  at  him  nor  set  him  aside. 

Gage  replied  after  his  kind.  He  was  an  incon 
siderable  person,  dull  and  well  meaning,  intended 
for  the  command  of  a  garrison  town,  and  terribly 
twisted  and  torn  by  the  great  events  in  which  he 
was  momentarily  caught.  His  masters  were  stupid 
and  arrogant,  and  he  imitated  them  with  perfect 
success,  except  that  arrogance  with  him  dwindled 
to  impertinence.  He  answered  Washington's  letter 


144  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

with  denials  and  recriminations,  lectured  the  Amer 
ican  general  on  the  political  situation,  and  talked 
about  "  usurped  authority,"  "  rebels,"  "  criminals," 
and  persons  destined  to  the  "  cord."  Washington, 
being  a  man  of  his  word,  proceeded  to  put  some 
English  prisoners  into  jail,  and  then  wrote  a  sec 
ond  note,  giving  Gage  a  little  lesson  in  manners, 
with  the  vain  hope  of  making  him  see  that  gentle 
men  did  not  scold  and  vituperate  because  they 
fought.  He  restated  his  case  calmly  and  coolly, 
as  before,  informed  Gage  that  he  had  investigated 
the  counter-charge  of  cruelty  and  found  it  without 
any  foundation,  and  then  continued :  "  You  advise 
me  to  give  free  operation  to  truth,  and  to  punish 
misrepresentation  and  falsehood.  If  experience 
stamps  value  upon  counsel,  yours  must  have  a 
weight  which  few  can  claim.  You  best  can  tell 
how  far  the  convulsion,  which  has  brought  such  ruin 
on  both  countries,  and  shaken  the  mighty  empire 
of  Britain  to  its  foundation,  may  be  traced  to  these 
malignant  causes. 

"  You  affect,  sir,  to  despise  all  rank  not  derived 
from  the  same  source  with  your  own.  I  cannot 
conceive  one  more  honorable  than  that  which  flows 
from  the  uncorrupted  choice  of  a  brave  and  free 
people,  the  purest  source  and  original  fountain  of 
all  power.  Far  from  making  it  a  plea  for  cruelty, 
a  mind  of  true  magnanimity  and  enlarged  ideas 
would  comprehend  and  respect  it." 

Washington  had  grasped  instinctively  the  gen 
eral  truth  that  Englishmen  are  prone  to  mistake 


TAKING   COMMAND.  145 

civility  for  servility,  and  become  offensive,  whereas 
if  they  are  treated  with  indifference,  rebuke,  or  even 
rudeness,  they  are  apt  to  be  respectful  and  polite. 
He  was  obliged  to  go  over  the  same  ground  with 
Sir  William  Howe,  a  little  later,  and  still  more 
sharply  ;  and  this  matter  of  prisoners  recurred,  al 
though  at  longer  and  longer  intervals,  throughout 
the  war.  But  as  the  British  generals  saw  their 
officers  go  to  jail,  and  found  that  their  impudence 
and  assumption  were  met  by  keen  reproofs,  they 
gradually  comprehended  that  Washington  was  not 
a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  and  that  iri  him  was  a 
pride  and  dignity  out-topping  theirs  and  far  strong 
er,  because  grounded  on  responsibility  borne  and 
work  done,  and  on  the  deep  sense  of  a  great  and 
righteous  cause. 

It  was  probably  a  pleasure  and  a  relief  to  give 
to  Gage  and  Sir  William  Howe  a  little  instruction 
in  military  behavior  and  general  good  manners,  but 
there  was  nothing  save  infinite  vexation  in  dealing 
with  the  difficulties  arising  on  the  American  side 
of  the  line.  As  the  days  shortened  and  the  leaves 
fell,  Washington  saw  before  him  a  New  England 
winter,  with  no  clothing  and  no  money  for  his 
troops.  Through  long  letters  to  Congress,  and 
strenuous  personal  efforts,  these  wants  were  some 
how  supplied.  Then  the  men  began  to  get  restless 
and  homesick,  and  both  privates  and  officers  would 
disappear  to  their  farms,  which  Washington,  al 
ways  impatient  of  wrongdoing,  styled  "  base  and 
pernicious  conduct,"  and  punished  accordingly. 


146  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

By  and  by  the  terms  of  enlistment  ran  out  and 
the  regiments  began  to  melt  away  even  before  the 
proper  date.  Recruiting  was  carried  on  slowly 
and  with  difficulty,  new  levies  were  tardy  in  com 
ing  in,  and  Congress  could  not  be  persuaded  to 
stop  limited  enlistments.  Still  the  task  was  done. 
The  old  army  departed  and  a  new  one  arose  in  its 
place,  the  posts  were  strengthened  and  ammunition 
secured. 

Among  these  reinforcements  came  some  Virginia 
riflemen,  and  it  must  have  warmed  Washington's 
heart  to  see  once  more  these  brave  and  hardy  fight 
ers  in  the  familiar  hunting  shirt  and  leggings. 
They  certainly  made  him  warm  in  a  very  differ 
ent  sense  by  getting  into  a  rough-and-tumble  fight 
one  winter's  day  with  some  Marblehead  fishermen. 
The  quarrel  was  at  its  height,  when  suddenly  into 
the  brawl  rode  the  commander-in-chief.  He  quickly 
dismounted,  seized  two  of  the  combatants,  shook 
them,  berated  them,  if  tradition  may  be  trusted, 
for  their  local  jealousies,  and  so  with  strong  arm 
quelled  the  disturbance.  He  must  have  longed  to 
take  more  than  one  colonial  governor  or  magnate 
by  the  throat  and  shake  him  soundly,  as  he  did  his 
soldiers  from  the  woods  of  Virginia  and  the  rocks 
of  Marblehead,  for  to  his  temper  there  was  noth 
ing  so  satisfying  as  rapid  and  decisive  action.  But 
he  could  not  quell,  governors  and  assemblies  in  this 
way,  and  yet  he  managed  them  and  got  what  he 
wanted  with  a  patience  and  tact  which  it  must  have 
been  in  the  last  degree  trying  to  him  to  practise, 


TAKING  COMMAND.  147 

gifted  as  he  was  with  a  nature  at  once  masterful 
and  passionate. 

Another  trial  was  brought  about  by  his  securing 
and  sending  out  privateers  which  did  good  service. 
They  brought  in  many  valuable  prizes  which  caused 
infinite  trouble,  and  forced  Washington  not  only  to 
be  a  naval  secretary,  but  also  made  him  a  species 
of  admiralty  judge.  He  implored  the  slow-moving 
Congress  to  relieve  him  from  this  burden,  and  sug 
gested  a  plan  which  led  to  the  formation  of  spe 
cial  committees  and  was  the  origin  of  the  Federal 
judiciary  of  the  United  States.  Besides  the  local 
jealousies  and  the  personal  jealousies,  and  the  pri 
vateers  and  their  prizes,  he  had  to  meet  also  the 
greed  and  selfishness  as  well  of  the  money-making, 
stock-jobbing  spirit  which  springs  up  rankly  under 
the  influence  of  army  contracts  and  large  expendi 
tures  among  a  people  accustomed  to  trade  and 
unused  to  war.  Washington  wrote  savagely  of 
these  practices,  but  still,  despite  all  hindrances  and 
annoyances,  he  kept  moving  straight  on  to  his  ob 
ject. 

In  the  midst  of  his  labors,  harassed  and  tried 
in  all  ways,  he  was  assailed  as  usual  by  complaint 
and  criticism.  Some  of  it  came  to  him  through 
his  friend  and  aide,  Joseph  Reed,  to  whom  he  wrote 
in  reply  one  of  the  noblest  letters  ever  penned  by 
a  great  man  struggling  with  adverse  circumstances 
and  wringing  victory  from  grudging  fortune.  He 
said  that  he  was  always  ready  to  welcome  criticism, 
hear  advice,  and  learn  the  opinion  of  the  world. 


148  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

"  For  as  I  have  but  one  capital  object  in  view, 
I  could  wish  to  make  my  conduct  coincide  with  the 
wishes  of  mankind,  as  far  as  I  can  consistently  ; 
I  mean,  without  departing  from  that  great  line  of 
duty  which,  though  hid  under  a  cloud  for  some 
time,  from  a  peculiarity  of  circumstances,  may, 
nevertheless,  bear  a  scrutiny."  Thus  he  held  fast 
to  "  the  great  line  of  duty,"  though  bitterly  tried 
the  while  by  the  news  from  Canada,  where  brilliant 
beginnings  were  coming  to  dismal  endings,  and 
cheered  only  by  the  arrival  of  his  wife,  who  drove 
up  one  day  in  her  coach  and  four,  with  the  horses 
ridden  by  black  postilions  in  scarlet  and  white 
liveries,  much  to  the  amazement,  no  doubt,  of  the 
sober-minded  New  England  folk. 

Light,  however,  finally  began  to  break  on  the 
work  about  him.  Henry  Knox,  sent  out  for  that 
purpose,  returned  safely  with  the  guns  captured  at 
Ticonderoga,  and  thus  heavy  ordnance  and  gun 
powder  were  obtained.  By  the  middle  of  February 
the  harbor  was  frozen  over,  and  Washington  ar 
ranged  to  cross  the  ice  and  carry  Boston  by  storm. 
Again  he  was  held  back  by  his  council,  but  this 
time  he  could  not  be  stopped.  If  he  could  not  cross 
the  ice  he  would  go  by  land.  He  had  been  slowly 
but  surely  advancing  his  works  all  winter,  and  now 
he  determined  on  a  decisive  stroke.  On  the  evening 
of  Monday,  March  4th,  under  cover  of  a  heavy  bom 
bardment  which  distracted  the  enemy's  attention, 
he  marched  a  large  body  of  troops  to  Dorchester 
Heights  and  began  to  throw  up  redoubts.  The 


TAKING   COMMAND.  149 

work  went  forward  rapidly,  and  Washington  rode 
about  all  night  encouraging  the  men.  The  New 
England  soldiers  had  sorely  tried  his  temper,  and 
there  were  many  severe  attacks  and  bitter  criti 
cisms  upon  them  in  his  letters,  which  were  sup 
pressed  or  smoothed  over  for  the  most  part  by  Mr. 
Sparks,  but  which  have  come  to  light  since,  as  is 
sometimes  the  case  with  facts.  Gradually,  how 
ever,  the  General  had  come  to  know  his  soldiers 
better,  and  six  months  later  he  wrote  to  Lund 
Washington,  praising  his  northern  troops  in  the 
highest  terms.  Even  now  he  understood  them  as 
never  before,  and  as  he  watched  them  on  that 
raw  March  night,  working  with  the  energy  and 
quick  intelligence  of  their  race,  he  probably  felt 
that  the  defects  were  superficial,  but  the  virtues, 
the  tenacity,  and  the  courage  were  lasting  and 
strong. 

When  day  dawned,  and  the  British  caught  sight 
of  the  formidable  works  which  had  sprung  up  in 
the  night,  there  was  a  great  excitement  and  running 
hither  and  thither  in  the  town.  Still  the  men  on 
the  heights  worked  on,  and  still  Washington  rode 
back  and  forth  among  them.  He  was  stirred  and 
greatly  rejoiced  at  the  coming  of  the  fight,  which 
he  now  believed  inevitable,  and  as  always,  when  he 
was  deeply  moved,  the  hidden  springs  of  sentiment 
and  passion  were  opened,  and  he  reminded  his  soldiers 
that  it  was  the  anniversary  of  the  Boston  massacre, 
and  appealed  to  them  by  the  memories  of  that  day 
to  prepare  for  battle  with  the  enemy.  As  with 
the  Huguenots  at  Ivry,  — 


150  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew  was  passed  from  man  to  man." 

But  the  fighting1  never  came.  The  British  troops 
were  made  ready,  then  a  gale  arose  and  they  could 
not  cross  the  bay.  The  next  day  it  rained  in  tor 
rents,  and  the  next  day  it  was  too  late.  The  Ameri 
can  intrenchments  frowned  threateningly  above 
the  town,  and  began  to  send  in  certain  ominous 
messengers  in  the  shape  of  shot  and  shell.  The 
place  was  now  so  clearly  untenable  that  Howe  de 
termined  to  evacuate  it.  An  informal  request  to 
allow  the  troops  to  depart  unmolested  was  not  an 
swered,  but  Washington  suspended  his  fire  and  the 
British  made  ready  to  withdraw.  Still  they  hesi 
tated  and  delayed,  until  Washington  again  ad 
vanced  his  works,  and  on  this  hint  they  started  in 
earnest,  on  March  17th,  amid  confusion,  pillage, 
and  disorder,  leaving  cannon  and  much  else  behind 
them,  and  seeking  refuge  in  their  ships. 

All  was  over,  and  the  town  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Americans.  In  Washington's  own  words,  "  To 
maintain  a  post  within  musket-shot  of  the  enemy 
for  six  months  together,  without  powder,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  disband  one  army  and  recruit  another 
within  that  distance  of  twenty-odd  British  regi 
ments,  is  more,  probably,  than  ever  was  attempted." 
It  was,  in  truth,  a  gallant  feat  of  arms,  carried 
through  by  the  resolute  will  and  strong  brain  of 
one  man.  The  troops  011  both  sides  were  brave, 
but  the  British  had  advantages  far  more  than  com 
pensating  for  a  disparity  of  numbers,  always  slight 
and  often  more  imaginary  than  real.  They  had 


TAKING   COMMAND.  151 

twelve  thousand  men,  experienced,  disciplined, 
equipped,  and  thoroughly  supplied.  They  had  the 
best  arms  and  cannon  and  gunpowder.  They  com 
manded  the  sea  with  a  strong  fleet,  and  they  were 
concentrated  on  the  inside  line,  able  to  strike  with 
suddenness  and  overwhelming  force  at  any  point  of 
widely  extended  posts.  Washington  caught  them 
with  an  iron  grip  and  tightened  it  steadily  until, 
in  disorderly  haste,  they  took  to  their  boats  without 
even  striking  a  blow.  Washington's  great  abilities, 
and  the  incapacity  of  the  generals  opposed  to  him, 
were  the  causes  of  this  result.  If  Robert  Clive, 
for  instance,  had  chanced  to  have  been  there  the 
end  might  possibly  have  been  the  same,  but  there 
would  have  been  some  bloody  fighting  before  that 
end  was  reached.  The  explanation  of  the  feeble 
abandonment  of  Boston  lies  in  the  stupidity  of  the 
English  government,  which  had  sown  the  wind  and 
then  proceeded  to  handle  the  customary  crop  with 
equal  fatuity. 

There  were  plenty  of  great  men  in  England,  but 
they  were  not  conducting  her  government  or  her 
armies.  Lord  Sandwich  had  declared  in  the  House 
of  Lords  that  all  "  Yankees  were  cowards,"  a  sim 
ple  and  satisfactory  statement,  readily  accepted  by 
the  governing  classes,  and  flung  in  the  teeth  of  the 
British  soldiers  as  they  fell  back  twice  from  the 
bloody  slopes  of  Bunker  Hill.  Acting  on  this 
pleasant  idea,  England  sent  out  as  commanders  of 
her  American  army  a  parcel  of  ministerial  and 
court  favorites,  thoroughly  second-rate  men,  to 


152  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

whom  was  confided  the  task  of  beating  one  of  the 
best  soldiers  and  hardest  fighters  of  the  century. 
Despite  the  enormous  material  odds  in  favor  of 
Great  Britain,  the  natural  result  of  matching  the 
Howes  and  Gages  and  Clintons  against  George 
Washington  ensued,  and  the  first  lesson  was  taught 
by  the  evacuation  of  Boston. 

Washington  did  not  linger  over  his  victory. 
Even  while  the  British  fleet  still  hung  about  the 
harbor  he  began  to  send  troops  to  New  York  to 
make  ready  for  the  next  attack.  He  entered  Bos 
ton  in  order  to  see  that  every  precaution  was  taken 
against  the  spread  of  the  smallpox,  and  then  pre 
pared  to  depart  himself.  Two  ideas,  during  his 
first  winter  of  conflict,  had  taken  possession  of  his 
mind,  and  undoubtedly  influenced  profoundly  his 
future  course.  One  was  the  conviction  that  the 
struggle  must  be  fought  out  to  the  bitter  end,  and 
must  bring  either  subjugation  or  complete  indepen 
dence.  He  wrote  in  February  :  "  With  respect  to 
myself,  I  have  never  entertained  an  idea  of  an  ac 
commodation,  since  I  heard  of  the  measures  which 
were  adopted  in  consequence  of  the  Bunker's  Hill 
fight ; "  and  at  an  earlier  date  he  said  :  "  I  hope 
my  countrymen  (of  Virginia)  will  rise  superior  to 
any  losses  the  whole  navy  of  Great  Britain  can 
bring  on  them,  and  that  the  destruction  of  Norfolk 
and  threatened  devastation  of  other  places  will 
have  no  other  effect  than  to  unite  the  whole  coun 
try  in  one  indissoluble  band  against  a  nation  which 
seems  to  be  lost  to  every  sense  of  virtue  and  those 


TAKING   COMMAND.  153 

feelings  which  distinguish  a  civilized  people  from 
the  most  barbarous  savages."  With  such  thoughts 
he  sought  to  make  Congress  appreciate  the  prob 
able  long  duration  of  the  struggle,  and  he  bent 
every  energy  to  giving  permanency  to  his  army, 
and  decisiveness  to  each  campaign.  The  other 
idea  which  had  grown  in  his  mind  during  the 
weary  siege  was  that  the  Tories  were  thoroughly 
dangerous  and  deserved  scant  mercy.  In  his  second 
letter  to  Gage  he  refers  to  them,  with  the  frank 
ness  which  characterized  him  when  he  felt  strongly, 
as  "  execrable  parricides,"  and  he  made  ready  to 
treat  them  with  the  utmost  severity  at  New  York 
and  elsewhere.  When  Washington  was  aroused 
there  was  a  stern  and  relentless  side  to  his  char 
acter,  in  keeping  with  the  force  and  strength  which 
were  his  chief  qualities.  His  attitude  on  this  point 
seems  harsh  now  when  the  old  Tories  no  longer 
look  very  dreadful.  But  they  were  dangerous 
then,  and  Washington,  with  his  honest  hatred  of 
all  that  seemed  to  him  to  partake  of  meanness  or 
treason,  proposed  to  put  them  down  and  render 
them  harmless,  being  well  convinced,  after  his 
clear-sighted  fashion,  that  war  was  not  peace,  and 
that  mildness  to  domestic  foes  was  sadly  misplaced. 
His  errand  to  New  England  was  now  done  and 
well  done.  His  victory  was  won,  everything  was 
settled  at  Boston ;  and  so,  having  sent  his  army 
forward,  he  started  for  New  York,  to  meet  the 
harder  trials  that  still  awaited  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SAVING   THE   REVOLUTION. 

AFTER  leaving  Boston,  Washington  proceeded 
through  Rhode  Island  and  Connecticut,  pushing 
troops  forward  as  he  advanced,  and  reached  New 
York  on  April  13th.  There  he  found  himself 
plunged  at  once  into  the  same  sea  of  difficulties 
with  which  he  had  been  struggling  at  Boston,  the 
only  difference  being  that  these  were  fresh  and 
entirely  untouched.  The  army  was  inadequate, 
and  the  town,  which  was  the  central  point  of  the 
colonies,  as  well  as  the  great  river  at  its  side,  was 
wholly  unprotected.  The  troops  were  in  large 
measure  raw  and  undrilled,  the  committee  of  safety 
was  hesitating,  the  Tories  were  virulent  and  ac 
tive,  corresponding  constantly  with  Tryon  who 
was  lurking  in  a  British  man-of-war,  while  from 
the  north  came  tidings  of  retreat  and  disaster. 
All  these  harassing  difficulties  crowded  upon  the 
commander-in-chief  as  soon  as  he  arrived.  To  ap 
preciate  him  it  is  necessary  to  understand  these  con 
ditions  and  realize  their  weight  and  consequence, 
albeit  the  details  seem  petty.  When  we  compre 
hend  the  difficulties,  then  we  can  see  plainly  the 
greatness  of  the  man  who  quietly  and  silently  took 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  155 

them  up  and  disposed  of  them.  Some  he  scotched 
and  some  he  killed,  but  he  dealt  with  them  all  after 
a  fashion  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  move  steadily 
forward.  In  his  presence  the  provincial  committee 
suddenly  stiffened  and  grew  strong.  All  corre 
spondence  with  Tryon  was  cut  off,  the  Tories  were 
repressed,  and  on  Long  Island  steps  were  taken  to 
root  out  "  these  abominable  pests  of  society,"  as 
the  commander-in-chief  called  them  in  his  plain- 
spoken  way.  Then  forts  were  built,  soldiers  ener 
getically  recruited  and  drilled,  arrangements  made 
for  prisoners,  and  despite  all  the  present  cares  anx 
ious  thought  was  given  to  the  Canada  campaign, 
and  ideas  and  expeditions,  orders,  suggestions  and 
encouragement  were  freely  furnished  to  the  dispir 
ited  generals  and  broken  forces  of  the  north. 

One  matter,  however,  overshadowed  all  others. 
Nearly  a  year  before,  Washington  had  seen  that 
there  was  no  prospect  or  possibility  of  accommoda 
tion  with  Great  Britain.  It  was  plain  to  his  mind 
that  the  struggle  was  final  in  its  character  and 
would  be  decisive.  Separation  from  the  mother 
country,  therefore,  ought  to  come  at  once,  so  that 
public  opinion  might  be  concentrated,  and  above  all, 
permanency  ought  to  be  given  to  the  army.  These 
ideas  he  had  been  striving  to  impress  upon  Con 
gress,  for  the  most  partless  clear-sighted  than  he 
was  as  to  facts,  and  as  the  months  slipped' by  his 
letters  had  grown  constantly  more  earnest  and 
more  vehement.  Still  Congress  hesitated,  and  at 
last  Washington  went  himself  to  Philadelphia  and 


156  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

held  conferences  with  the  principal  men.  What  he 
said  is  lost,  but  the  tone  of  Congress  certainly  rose 
after  his  visit.  The  aggressive  leaders  found  their 
hands  so  much  strengthened  that  little  more  than 
a  mdhth  later  they  carried  through  a  declaration 
of  independence,  which  was  solemnly  and  grate 
fully  proclaimed  to  the  army  by  the  general,  much 
relieved  to  have  got  through  the  necessary  boat- 
burning,  and  to  have  brought  affairs,  military  and 
political,  on  to  the  hard  ground  of  actual  fact. 

Soon  after  his  return  from  Philadelphia,  he  re 
ceived  convincing  proof  that  his  views  in  regard 
to  the  Tories  were  extremely  sound.  A  conspiracy 
devised  by  Tryon,  which  aimed  apparently  at  the 
assassination  of  the  commander-in-chief,  and  which 
had  corrupted  his  life-guards  for  that  purpose, 
was  discovered  and  scattered  before  it  had  fairly 
hardened  into  definite  form.  The  mayor  of  the 
city  and  various  other  persons  were  seized  and 
thrown  into  prison,  and  one  of  the  life-guards, 
Thomas  Hickey  by  name,  who  was  the  principal 
tool  in  the  plot,  was  hanged  in  the  presence  of  a 
large  concourse  of  people.  Washington  wrote  a 
brief  and  business-like  account  of  the  affair  to 
Congress,  from  which  one  would  hardly  suppose 
that  his  own  life  had  been  aimed  at.  It  is  a 
curious  instance  of  his  cool  indifference  to  personal 
danger.  The  conspiracy  had  failed,  that  was  suffi 
cient  for  him,  and  he  had  other  things  besides  him 
self  to  consider.  "  We  expect  a  bloody  summer 
in  New  York  and  Canada,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother, 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  157 

and  even  while  the  Canadian  expedition  was  com 
ing  to  a  disastrous  close,  and  was  bringing  hostile 
invasion  instead  of  the  hoped-for  conquest,  British 
men-of-war  were  arriving  daily  in  the  harbor^nd 
a  large  army  was  collecting  on  Staten  Island.*  The 
rejoicings  over  the  Declaration  of  Independence  had 
hardly  died  away,  when  the  vessels  of  the  enemy 
made  their  way  up  the  Hudson  without  check  from 
the  embryo  forts,  or  the  obstacles  placed  in  the 
stream. 

July  12th  Lord  Howe  arrived  with  more  troops, 
and  also  with  ample  powers  to  pardon  and  nego 
tiate.  Almost  immediately  he  tried  to  open  a  cor 
respondence  with  Washington,  but  Colonel  Reed,  in 
behalf  of  the  General,  refused  to  receive  the  let 
ter  addressed  to  "  Mr.  Washington."  Then  Lord 
Howe  sent  an  officer  to  the  American  camp  with 
a  second  letter,  addressed  to  "  George  Washington, 
Esq.,  etc.,  etc."  The  bearer  was  courteously  re 
ceived,  but  the  letter  was  declined.  "  The  etc.,  etc. 
may  mean  anything,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  It 
may  also  mean  nothing,"  Washington  replied,  and 
added  that  touching  the  pardoning  power  of  Lord 
Howe  there  could  be  no  pardon  where  there  was  no 
guilt,  and  where  no  forgiveness  was  asked.  As  a 
result  of  these  interviews,  Lord  Howe  wrote  to 
England  that  it  would  be  well  to  give  Mr.  Wash 
ington  his  proper  title.  A  small  question,  appar 
ently,  this  of  the  form  of  address,  especially  to  a 
lover  of  facts,  and  yet  it  was  in  reality  of  genuine 
importance.  To  the  world  Washington  represented 


158  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  young  republic,  and  he  was  determined  to  ex 
tort  from  England  the  first  acknowledgment  of 
independence  by  compelling  her  to  recognize  the 
Americans  as  belligerents  and  not  rebels.  Wash 
ington  cared  as  little  for  vain  shows  as  any  man 
who  ever  lived,  but  he  had  the  highest  sense  of  per 
sonal  dignity,  and  of  the  dignity  of  his  cause  and 
country.  Neither  should  be  allowed  to  suffer  in  his 
hands.  He  appreciated  the  effect  on  mankind  of 
forms  and  titles,  and  with  unerring  judgment  he 
insisted  on  what  he  knew  to  be  of  real  value.  It 
is  one  of  the  earliest  examples  of  the  dignity  and 
good  taste  which  were  of  such  inestimable  value  to 
his  country. 

He  had  abundant  occasion  also  for  the  employ 
ment  of  these  same  qualities,  coupled  with  un 
wearied  patience  and  tact,  in  dealing  with  his  own 
men.  The  present  army  was  drawn  from  a  wider 
range  than  that  which  had  taken  Boston,  and  sec 
tional  jealousies  and  disputes,  growing  every  day 
more  hateful  to  the  commancler-in-chief,  sprang  up 
rankly.  The  men  of  Maryland  thought  those  of 
Connecticut  ploughboys ;  the  latter  held  the  former 
to  be  fops  and  dandies.  These  and  a  hundred 
other  disputes  buzzed  and  whirled  about  Wash 
ington,  stirring  his  strong  temper,  and  exercising 
his  sternest  self-control  in  the  untiring  effort  to 
suppress  them  and  put  them  to  death.  "It  re 
quires,"  John  Adams  truly  said,  "  more  serenity 
of  temper,  a  deeper  understanding,  and  more  cour 
age  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  Marlborough,  to  ride  in 


SAVING    THE  REVOLUTION.  159 

this  whirlwind."  Fortunately  these  qualities  were 
all  there,  and  with  them  an  honesty  of  purpose  and 
an  unbending  directness  of  character  to  which 
Anne's  great  general  was  a  stranger. 

Meantime,  while  the  internal  difficulties  were 
slowly  diminished,  the  forces  of  the  enemy  rapidly 
increased.  First  it  became  evident  that  attacks 
were  not  feasible.  Then  the  question  changed  to 
a  mere  choice  of  defences.  Even  as  to  this  there 
was  great  and  harassing  doubt,  for  the  enemy, 
having  command  of  the  water,  could  concentrate 
and  attack  at  any  point  they  pleased.  Moreover, 
the  British  had  thirty  thousand  of  the  best  disci 
plined  and  best  equipped  troops  that  Europe  could 
furnish,  while  Washington  had  some  twenty  thou 
sand  men,  one  fourth  of  whom  were  unfit  for  duty, 
and  with  the  remaining  three  fourths,  raw  recruits 
for  the  most  part,  he  was  obliged  to  defend  an  ex 
tended  line  of  posts,  without  cavalry,  and  with  no 
means  for  rapid  concentration.  Had  he  been  gov 
erned  solely  by  military  considerations  he  would 
have  removed  the  inhabitants,  burned  New  York, 
and  drawing  his  forces  together  would  have  taken 
up  a  secure  post  of  observation.  To  have  de 
stroyed  the  town,  however,  not  only  would  have 
frightened  the  tirnid  and  the  doubters,  and  driven 
them  over  to  the  Tories,  but  would  have  dispir 
ited  the  patriots  not  yet  alive  to  the  exigencies 
of  war,  and  deeply  injured  the  American  cause. 
That  Washington  well  understood  the  need  of  such 
action  is  clear,  both  from  the  current  rumors  that 


160  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  town  was  to  be  burned,  and  from  his  expressed 
desire  to  remove  the  women  and  children  from 
New  York.  But  political  considerations  overruled 
the  military  necessity,  and  he  spared  the  town.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  be  thus  hampered,  but  he  was 
even  more  fettered  in  other  ways,  for  he  could  not 
even  concentrate  his  forces  and  withdraw  to  the 
Highlands  without  a  battle,  for  he  was  obliged  to 
fight  in  order  to  sustain  public  feeling,  and  thus 
he  was  driven  on  to  almost  sure  defeat. 

Everything,  too,  as  the  day  of  battle  drew  near, 
seemed  to  make  against  him.  On  August  22d  the 
enemy  began  to  land  on  Long  Island,  where  Greene 
had  drawn  a  strong  line  of  redoubts  behind  the  vil 
lage  of  Brooklyn,  to  defend  the  heights  which  com 
manded  New  York,  and  had  made  every  arrange 
ment  to  protect  the  three  roads  through  the  wooded 
hills,  about  a  mile  from  the  retrenchments.  Most 
unfortunately,  and  just  at  the  critical  moment, 
Greene  was  taken  down  with  a  raging  fever,  so 
that  when  Washington  came  over  on  the  24th  he 
found  much  confusion  in  the  camps,  which  he  re 
pressed  as  best  he  could,  and  then  prepared  for  the 
attack.  Greene's  illness,  however,  had  caused  some 
oversights  which  were  unknown  to  the  commander- 
in-chief,  and  which,  as  it  turned  out,  proved  fatal. 

After  indecisive  skirmishing  for  two  or  three 
days,  the  British  started  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
26th.  They  had  nine  thousand  men  and  were  well 
informed  as  to  the  country.  Advancing  through 
woodpaths  and  lanes,  they  came  round  to  the 


SAVING    THE  REVOLUTION.  161 

left  flank  of  the  Americans.  One  of  the  roads 
through  the  hills  .was  unguarded,  the  others  feebly 
protected.  The  result  is  soon  told.  The  Ameri 
cans,  out-generalled  and  out-flanked,  were  taken  by 
surprise  and  surrounded,  Sullivan  and  his  divi 
sion  were  cut  off,  and  then  Lord  Stirling.  There 
was  some  desperate  fighting,  and  the  Americans 
showed  plenty  of  courage,  but  only  a  few  forced 
their  way  out.  Most  of  them  were  killed  or  taken 
prisoners,  the  total  loss  out  of  some  five  thousand 
men  reaching  as  high  as  two  thousand./ 

From  the  redoubts,  whither  he  had  come  at 
the  sound  of  the  firing,  Washington  watched  the 
slaughter  and  disaster  in  grim  silence.  He  saw 
the  British  troops,  flushed  with  victory,  press  on  to 
the  very  edge  of  his  works  and  then  withdraw  in 
obedience  to  command.  The  British  generals  had 
their  prey  so  surely,  as  they  believed,  that  they 
mercifully  decided  not  to  waste  life  unnecessarily 
by  storming  the  works  in  the  first  glow  of  success. 
So  they  waited  during  that  night  and  the  two  fol 
lowing  days,  while  Washington  strengthened  his 
intrenchments,  brought  over  reinforcements,  and 
prepared  for  the  worst.  On  the  29th  it  became  ap 
parent  that  there  was  a  movement  in  the  fleet,  and 
that  arrangements  were  being  made  to  take  the 
Americans  in  the  rear  and  wholly  cut  them  off.  Ife 
was  a  pretty  plan,  but  the  British  overlooked  the 
fact  that  while  they  were  lingering,  summing  up 
their  victory,  and  counting  the  future  as  assured, 
there  was  a  silent  watchful  man  on  the  other  side 


162  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

of  the  redoubts  who  for  forty-eight  hours  never  left 
the  lines,  and  who  with  a  great  capacity  for  stub 
born  fighting  could  move,  when  the  stress  came, 
with  the  celerity  and  stealth  of  a  panther. 

Washington  swiftly  determined  to  retreat.  It 
was  a  desperate  undertaking,  and  a  lesser  man 
would  have  hesitated  and  been  lost.  He  had  to 
transport  nine  thousand  men  across  a  strait  of 
strong  tides  and  currents,  and  three  quarters  of  a 
mile  in  width.  It  was  necessary  to  collect  the 
boats  from  a  distance,  and  do  it  all  within  sight 
and  hearing  of  the  enemy.  The  boats  were  ob 
tained,  a  thick  mist  settled  down  on  sea  and  land, 
the  water  was  calm,  and  as  the  night  wore  away, 
the  entire  army  with  all  its  arms  and  baggage  was 
carried  over,  Washington  leaving  in  the  last  boat. 
At  daybreak  the  British  awoke,  but  it  was  too  late. 
They  had  fought  a  successful  battle,  they  had  had 
the  American  army  in  their  grasp,  and  now  all  was 
over.  The  victory  had  melted  away,  and,  as  a 
grand  result,  they  had  a  few  hundred  prisoners,  a 
stray  boat  with  three  camp-followers,  and  the  de 
serted  works  in  which  they  stood.  To  make  such 
a  retreat  as  this  was  a  feat  of  arms  as  great  as 
most  victories,  and  in  it  we  see,  perhaps  as  plainly 
as  anywhere,  the  nerve  and  quickness  of  the  man 
who  conducted  it.  It  is  true  it  was  the  only 
chance  of  salvation,  but  the  great  man  is  he  who  j 
is  entirely  master  of  his  opportunity,  even  if  he' 
have  but  one. 

The  outlook,  nevertheless,  was,  as  Washington 


SAVING   THE  HE  VOLUTION".  163 

wrote,  "  truly  distressing."  The  troops  were  dispir 
ited,  and  the  militia  began  to  disappear,  as  they 
always  did  after  a  defeat.  Congress  would  not 
permit  the  destruction  of  the  city,  different  inter 
ests  pulled  in  different  directions,  conflicting  opin 
ions  distracted  the  councils  of  war,  and,  with  utter 
inability  to  predict  the  enemy's  movements,  every 
thing  led  to  halfway  measures  and  to  intense  anx 
iety,  while  Lord  Howe  tried  to  negotiate  with  Con 
gress,  and  the  Americans  waited  for  events.  Wash 
ington,  looking  beyond  the  confusion  of  the  mo 
ment,  saw  that  he  had  gained  much  by  delay,  and 
had  his  own  plan  well  defined.  He  wrote :  "  We 
have  not  only  delayed  the  operations  of  the  cam 
paign  till  it  is  too  late  to  effect  any  capital  incur 
sion  into  the  country,  but  have  drawn  the  enemy's 
forces  to  one  point.  ...  It  would  be  presumption 
to  draw  out  our  young  troops  into  open  ground 
against  their  superiors  both  in  number  and  disci 
pline,  and  I  have  never  spared  the  spade  and  pick 
axe."  Every  one  else,  however,  saw  only  past  de 
feat  and  present  peril. 

The  British  ships  gradually  made  their  way  up 
the  river,  until  it  became  apparent  that  they  in 
tended  to  surround  and  cut  off  the  American  army. 
Washington  made  preparations  to  withdraw,  but 
uncertainty  of  information  came  near  rendering  his 
precautions  futile.  September  15th  the  men-of-war 
opened  fire,  and  troops  were  landed  near  Kip's 
Bay.  The  militia  in  the  breastworks  at  that  point 
had  been  at  Brooklyn  and  gave  way  at  once,  com- 


164  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

municating  their  panic  to  two  Connecticut  regi 
ments.  Washington,  galloping  down  to  the  scene 
of  battle,  came  upon  the  disordered  and  flying 
troops.  He  dashed  in  among  them,  conjuring  them 
to  stop,  but  even  while  lie  was  trying  to  rally  them 
they  broke  again  on  the  appearance  of  some  sixty 
or  seventy  of  the  enemy,  and  ran  in  all  directions. 
In  a  tempest  of  anger  Washington  drew  his  pis 
tols,  struck  the  fugitives  with  his  sword,  and  was 
only  forced  from  the  field  by  one  of  his  officers 
seizing  the  bridle  of  his  horse  and  dragging  him 
away  from  the  British,  now  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  spot. 

Through  all  his  trials  and  anxieties  Washington 
always  showed  the  broadest  and  most  generous 
sympathy.  When  the  militia  had  begun  to  leave 
him  a  few  days  before,  although  he  despised  their 
action  and  protested  bitterly  to  Congress  against 
their  employment,  yet  in  his  letters  he  displayed 
a  keen  appreciation  of  their  feeli-ngs,  and  saw 
plainly  every  palliation  and  excuse.  But  there  was 
one  thing  which  he  could  never  appreciate  nor  real 
ize.  It  was  from  first  to  last  impossible  for  him  to 
understand  how  any  man  could  refuse  to  fight,  or 
could  think  of  running  away.  When  he  beheld 
rout  and  cowardly  panic  before  his  very  eyes,  his 
temper  broke  loose  and  ran  uncontrolled.  His  one 
thought  then  was  to  fight  to  the  last,  and  he  would 
have  thrown  himself  single-handed  on  the  enemy, 
with  all  his  wisdom  and  prudence  flung  to  the 
winds.  The  day  when  the  commander  held  his 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  165 

place  by  virtue  of  personal  prowess  lay  far  back 
in  the  centuries,,  and  no  one  knew  it  better  than 
Washington.  But  the  old  fighting  spirit  awoke 
within  him  when  the  clash  of  arms  sounded  in  his 
ears,  and  though  we  may  know  the  general  in  the 
tent  and  in  the  council,  we  can  only  know  the  man 
when  he  breaks  out  from  all  rules  and  customs, 
and  shows  the  rage  of  battle,  and  the  indomitable 
eagerness  for  the  fray,  which  lie  at  the  bottom  of 
the  tenacity  and  courage  that  carried  the  war  for 
independence  to  a  triumphant  close. 

The  rout  and  panic  over,  Washington  quickly 
turned  to  deal  with  the  pressing  danger.  With 
coolness  and  quickness  he  issued  his  orders,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  his  army  off,  Putnam's  divi 
sion  escaping  most  narrowly.  He  then  took  post 
at  King's  Bridge,  and  began  to  strengthen  and 
fortify  his  lines.  While  thus  engaged,  the  enemy 
advanced,  and  on  the  16th  a  sharp  skirmish  was 
fought,  in  which  the  British  were  repulsed,  and 
great  bravery  was  shown  by  the  Connecticut  and 
Virginia  troops,  the  two  commanding  officers  being 
killed.  This  affair,  which  was  the  first  gleam  of 
success,  encouraged  the  troops,  and  was  turned  to 
the  best  account  by  the  general.  Still  a  successful 
skirmish  did  not  touch  the  essential  difficulties  of 
the  situation,  which  then  as  always  came  from 
within,  rather  than  without.  To  face  and  check 
twenty-five  thousand  well  equipped  and  highly  dis 
ciplined  soldiers  Washington  had  now  some  twelve 
thousand  men,  lacking  in  everything  which  goes  to 


166  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

make  an  army,  except  mere  individual  courage  and 
a  high  average  of  intelligence.  Even  this  meagre 
force  was  an  inconstant  and  diminishing  quantity, 
shifting,  uncertain,  and  always  threatening  disso 
lution. 

The  task  of  facing  and  fighting  the  enemy  was 
enough  for  the  ablest  of  men  ;  but  Washington  was 
obliged  also  to  combat  and  overcome  the  inertness 
and  dulness  born  of  ignorance,  and  to  teach  Con 
gress  how  to  govern  a  nation  at  war.  In  the  hours 
"allotted  to  sleep,"  he  sat  in  his  headquarters, 
writing  a  letter,  with  "  blots  and  scratches,"  which 
told  Congress  with  the  utmost  precision  and  vigor 
just  what  was  needed.  It  was  but  one  of  a  long 
series  of  similar  letters,  written  with  unconquerable 
patience  and  with  unwearied  iteration,  lighted  here 
and  there  by  flashes  of  deep  and  angry  feeling, 
which  would  finally  strike  home  under  the  pressure 
of  defeat,  and  bring  the  patriots  of  the  legislature 
to  sudden  action,  always  incomplete,  but  still  ac 
tion  of  some  sort.  It  must  have  been  inexpressibly 
dreary  work,  but  quite  as  much  was  due  to  those 
letters  as  to  the  battles.  Thinking  for  other  peo 
ple,  and  teaching  them  what  to  do,  is  at  best  an 
ungrateful  duty,  but  when  it  is  done  while  an  en 
emy  is  at  your  throat,  it  shows  a  grim  tenacity  of 
purpose  which  is  well  worth  consideration. 

In  this  instance  the  letter  of  September  24th, 
read  in  the  light  of  the  battles  of  Long  Island  and 
Kip's  Bay,  had  a  considerable  effect.  The  first 
steps  were  taken  to  make  the  army  national  and 


SAVING   THE  DEVOLUTION.  167 

permanent,  to  raise  the  pay  of  officers,  and  to 
lengthen  enlistments.  Like  most  of  the  war  meas 
ures  of  Congress,  they  were  too  late  for  the  imme 
diate  necessity,  but  they  helped  the  future.  Con 
gress,  moreover,  then  felt  that  all  had  been  done 
that  could  be  demanded,  and  relapsed  once  more 
into  confidence.  "  The  British  force,"  said  John 
Adams,  chairman  of  the  board  of  war,  "is  so  di 
vided,  they  will  do  no  great  matter  this  fall."  But 
Washington,  facing  hard  facts,  wrote  to  Congress 
with  his  unsparing  truth  on  October  4th  :  "  Give 
me  leave  to  say,  sir,  (I  say  it  with  due  deference 
and  respect,  and  my  knowledge  of  the  facts,  added 
to  the  importance  of  the  cause  and  the  stake  I  hold 
in  it,  must  justify  the  freedom,)  that  your  affairs 
are  in  a  more  unpromising  way  than  you  seem  to 
apprehend.  Your  army,  as  I  mentioned  in  my 
last,  is  on  the  eve  of  its  political  dissolution.  True 
it  is,  you  have  voted  a  larger  one  in  lieu  of  it ;  but 
the  season  is  late  ;  and  there  is  a  material  differ 
ence  between  voting  battalions  and  raising  men." 

The  campaign  as  seen  from  the  board  of  war 
and  from  the  Plains  of  Harlem  differed  widely.  It 
is  needless  to  say  now  which  was  correct ;  every 
one  knows  that  the  General  was  right  and  Con 
gress  wrong,  but  being  in  the  right  did  not  help 
Washington,  nor  did  he  take  petty  pleasure  in  be 
ing  able  to  say,  "•  I  told  you  how  it  would  be." 
The  hard  facts  remained  unchanged.  There  was 
the  wholly  patriotic  but  slumberous,  and  for  fight 
ing  purposes  quite  inefficient  Congress  still  to  be 


168  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

waked  up  and  kept  awake,  and  to  be  instructed. 
With  painful  and  plain-spoken  repetition  this  work 
was  grappled  with  and  clone  methodically,  and  like 
all  else  as  effectively  as  was  possible. 

Meanwhile  the  days  slipped  along,  and  Wash 
ington  waited  on  the  Harlem  Plains,  planning  de 
scents  on  Long  Island,  and  determining  to  make  a 
desperate  stand  where  he  was,  unless  the  situation 
decidedly  changed.  Then  the  situation  did  change, 
as  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  apparently  had  an 
ticipated.  The  British  war-ships  came  up  the 
Hudson  past  the  forts,  brushing  aside  our  boasted 
obstructions,  destroying  our  little  fleet,  and  getting 
command  of  the  river.  Then  General  Howe 
landed  at  Frog's  Point,  where  he  was  checked  for 
the  moment  by  the  good  disposition  of  Heath, 
under  Washington's  direction.  These  two  events 
made  it  evident  that  the  situation  of  the  American 
army  was  full  of  peril,  and  that  retreat  was  again 
necessary.  Such  certainly  was  the  conclusion  of 
the  council  of  war,  on  the  16th,  acting  this  time 
in  agreement  with  their  chief.  Six  days  Howe 
lingered  on  Frog's  Point,  bringing  up  stores  or 
artillery  or  something  ;  it  matters  little  now  why 
he  tarried.  Suffice  it  that  he  waited,  and  gave  six 
days  to  Washington.  They  were  of  little  value  to 
Howe,  but  they  were  of  inestimable  worth  toWash- 
ington,  who  employed  them  in  getting  everything 
in  readiness,  in  holding  his  council  of  war,  and  then 
on  the  17th  in  moving  deliberately  off  to  very  strong 
ground  at  White  Plains.  On  his  way.  he  fought 


SAVING  THE  REVOLUTION.  169 

two  or  three  slight,  sharp,  and  successful  skirmishes 
with  the  British.  Sir  William  followed  closely,  but 
with  much  caution,  having  now  a  dull  glimmer  in 
his  mind  that  at  the  head  of  the  raw  troops  in  front 
of  him  was  a  man  with  whom  it  was  not  safe  to  be 
entirely  careless. 

On  the  28th,  Howe  came  up  to  Washington's 
position,  and  found  the  Americans  quite  equal  in 
numbers,  strongly  intrenched,  and  awaiting  his  at 
tack  with  confidence.  He  hesitated,  doubted,  and 
finally  feeling  that  he  must  do  something,  sent  four 
thousand  men  to  storm  Chatterton  Hill,  an  outly 
ing  post,  where  some  fourteen  hundred  Americans 
were  stationed.  There  was  a  short,  sharp  action, 
and  then  the  Americans  retreated  in  good  order  to 
the  main  army,  having  lost  less  than  half  as  many 
men  as  their  opponents.  With  caution  now  much 
enlarged,  Howe  sent  for  reinforcements,  and  waited 
two  days.  The  third  day  it  rained,  and  on  the 
fourth  Howe  found  that  Washington  had  with 
drawn  to  a  higher  and  quite  impregnable  line  of 
hills,  where  he  held  all  the  passes  in  the  rear  and 
awaited  a  second  attack.  Howe  contemplated  the 
situation  for  two  or  three  days  longer,  and  then 
broke  camp  and  withdrew  to  Dobbs  Ferry.  Such 
were  the  great  results  of  the  victory  of  Long  Is 
land,  two  wasted  months,  and  the  American  army 
still  untouched. 

Howe  was  resolved,  however,  that  his  campaign 
should  not  be  utterly  fruitless,  and  therefore  di 
rected  his  attention  to  the  defences  of  the  Hudson, 


170  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Fort  Lee,  and  Fort  Washington,  and  here  he  met 
with  better  success.  Congress,  in  its  military  wis 
dom,  had  insisted  that  these  forts  must  and  could 
be  held.  So  thought  the  generals,  and  so  most  es 
pecially,  and  most  unluckily,  did  Greene.  Wash 
ington,  with  his  usual  accurate  and  keen  percep 
tion,  saw,  from  the  time  the  men-of-war  came  up 
the  Hudson,  and,  now  that  the  British  army  was 
free,  more  clearly  than  ever  that  both  forts  ought 
to  be  abandoned.  Sure  of  his  ground,  he  overruled 
Congress,  but  was  so  far  influenced  by  Greene  that 
he  gave  to  that  officer  discretionary  orders  as  to 
withdrawal.  This  was  an  act  of  weakness,  as  he 
afterwards  admitted,  for  which  he  bitterly  re 
proached  himself,  never  confusing  or  glossing  over 
his  own  errors,  but  loyal  there,  as  elsewhere,  to 
facts.  An  attempt  was  made  to  hold  both  forts, 
and  both  were  lost,  as  he  had  foreseen.  From  Fort 
Lee  the  garrison  withdrew  in  safety.  Fort  Wash 
ington  was  carried  by  storm,  after  a  severe  struggle. 
Twenty-six  hundred  men  and  all  the  munitions  of 
war  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  It  was  a  seri 
ous  and  most  depressing  loss,  and  was  felt  through 
out  the  continent. 

Meantime  Washington  had  crossed  into  the  Jer 
seys,  and,  after  the  loss  of  Fort  Lee,  began  to  re 
treat  before  the  British,  who,  flushed  with  victory, 
now  advanced  rapidly  under  Lord  Cornwallis.  The 
crisis  of  his  fate  and  of  the  Revolution  was  upon 
him.  His  army  was  melting  away.  The  militia 
had  almost  all  disappeared,  and  regiments  whose 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  171 

term  of  enlistment  had  expired  were  departing 
daily.  Lee,  who  had  a  division  under  his  command, 
was  ordered  to  come  up,  but  paid  no  attention,  al 
though  the  orders  were  repeated  almost  every  day 
for  a  month.  He  lingered,  and  loitered,  and  ex 
cused  himself,  and  at  last  was  taken  prisoner.  This 
disposed  of  him  for  a  time  very  satisfactorily,  but 
meanwhile  he  had  succeeded  in  keeping  his  troops 
from  Washington,  which  was  a  most  serious  mis 
fortune. 

On  December  2d  Washington  was  at  Princeton 
with  three  thousand  ragged  men,  and  the  British 
close  upon  his  heels.  They  had  him  now  surely  in 
their  grip.  There  could  be  no  mistake  this  time, 
and  there  was  therefore  no  need  of  a  forced  march. 
But  they  had  not  yet  learned  that  to  Washington 
even  hours  meant  much,  and  when,  after  duly  rest 
ing,  they  reached  the  Delaware,  they  found  the 
Americans  on  the  other  side,  and  all  the  boats  de 
stroyed  for  a  distance  of  seventy  miles. 

It  was  winter  now,  the  short  gray  days  had  come, 
and  with  them  piercing  cold  and  storms  of  sleet 
and  ice.  It  seemed  as  if  the  elements  alone  would 
finally  disperse  the  feeble  body  of  men  still  gath 
ered  about  the  commander-in-chief.  Congress  had 
sent  him  blank  commissions  and  orders  to  recruit, 
which  were  well  meant,  but  were  not  practically  of 
much  value.  As  Glendower  could  call  spirits  from 
the  vasty  deep,  so  they,  with  like  success,  sought  to 
call  soldiers  from  the  earth  in  the  midst  of  defeat, 
and  in  the  teeth  of  a  North  American  winter. 


172  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

Washington,  baffling  pursuit  and  flying  from  town 
to  town,  left  nothing  undone.  North  and  south 
went  letters  and  appeals  for  men,  money,  and  sup 
plies.  Vain,  very  vain,  it  all  was,  for  the  most 
part,  but  still  it  was  done  in  a  tenacious  spirit. 
Lee  would  not  come,  the  Jersey  militia  would  not 
turn  out,  thousands  began  to  accept  Howe's  am 
nesty,  and  signs  of  wavering  were  apparent  in  some 
of  the  Middle  States.  Philadelphia  was  threatened, 
Newport  was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  and  for 
ninety  miles  Washington  had  retreated,  evading 
ruin  again  and  again  only  by  the  width  of  a  river. 
Congress  voted  not  to  leave  Philadelphia,  —  a  fact 
which  their  General  declined  to  publish,  —  and  then 
fled. 

No  one  remained  to  face  the  grim  realities  of  the 
time  but  Washington,  and  he  met  them  unmoved. 
Not  a  moment  passed  that  he  did  not  seek  in  some 
way  to  effect  something.  Not  an  hour  went  by 
that  he  did  not  turn  calmly  from  fresh  and  ever 
renewed  disappointment  to  work  and  action. 

By  the  middle  of  December  Howe  felt  satisfied 
that  the  American  army  would  soon  dissolve,  and 
leaving  strong  detachments  in  various  posts  he  with 
drew  to  New  York.  His  premises  were  sound,  and 
his  conclusions  logical,  but  he  made  his  usual  mis 
take  of  overlooking  and  underestimating  the  Amer 
ican  general.  No  sooner  was  it  known  that  he  was 
on  his  way  to  New  York  than  Washington,  at  the 
head  of  his  dissolving  army,  resolved  to  take  the 

O  •  '   ' 

offensive  and  strike  an  outlying  post.     In  a  letter 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  173 

of  December  14th,  the  day  after  Howe  began  to 
move,  we  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  Trenton.  It 
was  a  bold  spirit  that,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  with 
a  broken  army,  no  prospect  of  reinforcements,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  terror-stricken  people,  could  thus 
resolve  with  some  four  thousand  men  to  attack  an 
army  thoroughly  appointed,  and  numbering  in  all 
its  divisions  twenty-five  thousand  soldiers. 

It  is  well  to  pause  a  moment  and  look  at  that 
situation,  and  at  the  overwhelming  difficulties  which 
hemmed  it  in,  and  then  try  to  realize  what  manner 
of  man  he  was  who  rose  superior  to  it,  and  con 
quered  it.  Be  it  remembered,  too,  that  he  never 
deceived  himself,  and  never  for  one  instant  dis 
guised  the  truth.  Two  years  later  he  wrote  that  at 
this  supreme  moment,  in  what  were  called  "the 
dark  days  of  America,"  he  was  never  despondent ; 
and  this  was  true  enough,  for  despair  was  not  in 
his  nature.  But  no  delusions  lent  him  courage. 
On  the  18th  he  wrote  to  his  brother  "  that  if  every 
nerve  was  not  strained  to  recruit  this  new  army 
the  game  was  pretty  nearly  up  ; "  and  added,  u  You 
can  form  no  idea  of  the  perplexity  of  my  situation. 
No  man,  I  believe,  ever  had  a  greater  choice  of 
difficulties,  and  less  means  to  extricate  himself 
from  them.  However,  under  a  full  persuasion  of 
the  justice  of  our  cause,  I  cannot  entertain  an  idea 
that  it  will  finally  sink,  though  it  may  remain  for 
some  time  under  a  cloud."  There  is  no  complaint, 
no  boasting,  no  despair  in  this  letter.  We  can 
detect  a  bitterness  in  the  references  to  Congress 


171  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

and  to  Lee,  but  the  tone  of  the  letter  is  as  calm 
as  a  May  morning,  and  it  concludes  with  sending 
love  and  good  wishes  to  the  writer's  sister  and  her 
family. 

Thus  in  the  dreary  winter  Washington  was  plan 
ning  and  devising  and  sending  hither  and  thither 
for  men,  and  never  ceased  through  it  all  to  write 
urgent  and  ever  sharper  letters  and  keep  a  wary 
eye  upon  the  future.  He  not  only  wrote  strongly, 
but  he  pledged  his  own  estate  and  exceeded  his 
powers  in  desperate  efforts  to  raise  money  and 
men.  On  the  20th  he  wrote  to  Congress :  "  It 
may  be  thought  that  I  am  going  a  good  deal  out  of 
the  line  of  my  duty  to  adopt  these  measures,  or  to 
advise  thus  freely.  A  character  to  lose,  an  estate 
to  forfeit,  the  inestimable  blessings  of  liberty  at 
stake,  and  a  life  devoted,  must  be  my  excuse." 
Even  now  across  the  century  these  words  come 
with  a  grave  solemnity  to  our  ears,  and  we  can  feel 
as  he  felt  when  he  alone  saw  that  he  stood  on  the 
brink  of  a  great  crisis.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to 
know  that  the  life  of  a  nation  is  at  stake,  and  this 
thought  throbs  in  his  words,  measured  and  quiet  as 
usual,  but  deeply  fraught  with  much  meaning  to 
him  and  to  the  world. 

By  Christinas  all  was  ready,  and  when  the  Chris 
tian  world  was  rejoicing  and  feasting,  and  the  Brit 
ish  officers  in  New  York  and  in  the  New  Jersey 
towns  were  revelling  and  laughing,  Washington 
prepared  to  strike.  His  whole  force,  broken  into 
various  detachments,  was  less  than  six  thousand 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  175 

men.  To  each  division  was  assigned,  with  provi 
dent  forethought,  its  exact  part.  Nothing  was 
overlooked,  nothing  omitted ;  and  then  every  divi 
sion  commander  failed,  for  good  reason  or  bad,  to 
do  his  duty.  Gates  was  to  march  from  Bristol  with 
two  thousand  men,  Ewing  was  to  cross  at  Trenton, 
Putnam  was  to  come  up  from  Philadelphia,  Griffin 
was  to  make  a  diversion  against  Donop.  When 
the  moment  came,  Gates,  disapproving  the  scheme, 
was  on  his  way  to  Congress,  and  Wilkinson,  with 
his  message,  found  his  way  to  headquarters  by  fol 
lowing  the  bloody  tracks  of  the  barefooted  soldiers. 
Griffin  abandoned  New  Jersey  and  fled  before 
Donop.  Putnam  would  not  even  attempt  to  leave 
Philadelphia,  and  Ewing  made  no  effort  to  cross 
at  Trenton.  Cadwalader,  indeed,  came  down  from 
Bristol,  but  after  looking  at  the  river  and  the  float 
ing  ice,  gave  it  up  as  desperate. 

But  there  was  one  man  who  did  not  hesitate  nor 
give  up,  nor  halt  on  account  of  floating  ice.  With 
twenty-four  hundred  hardy  veterans,  Washington 
crossed  the  Delaware.  The  night  was  bitter  cold 
and  the  passage  difficult.  When  they  landed,  and 
began  their  march  of  nine  miles  to  Trenton,  a  fierce 
storm  of  sleet  drove  in  their  faces.  Sullivan, 
marching  by  the  river,  sent  word  that  the  arms  of 
his  men  were  wet.  "  Then  tell  your  general,"  said 
Washington,  "  to  use  the  bayonet,  for  the  town 
must  be  taken."  In  broad  daylight  they  came  to 
the  town.  Washington,  at  the  front  and  on  the 
right  of  the  line,  swept  down  the  Pennington  road, 


176  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

and  as  be  drove  in  the  pickets  he  heard  the  shouts 
of  Sullivan's  men,  as,  with  Stark  leading  the  van, 
they  charged  in  from  the  river.  A  company  of 
yagers  and  the  light  dragoons  slipped  away,  there 
was  a  little  confused  fighting  in  the  streets,  Colonel 
Rahl  fell,  mortally  wounded,  his  Hessians  threw 
down  their  arms,  and  all  was  over.  The  battle 
had  been  fought  and  won,  and  the  Revolution  was 
saved. 

Taking  his  thousand  prisoners  with  him,  Wash 
ington  recrossed  the  Delaware  to  his  old  position. 
Had  all  done  their  duty,  as  he  had  planned,  the 
British  hold  on  New  Jersey  would  have  been  shat 
tered.  As  it  was,  it  was  only  loosened.  Congress, 
aroused  at  last,  had  invested  Washington  with  al 
most  dictatorial  powers  ;  but  the  time  for  action 
was  short.  The  army  was  again  melting  away,  and 
only  by  urgent  appeals  were  some  veterans  retained, 
and  enough  new  men  gathered  to  make  a  force  of 
five  thousand  men.  With  this  army  Washington 
prepared  to  finish  what  he  had  begun. 

Trenton  struck  alarm  and  dismay  into  the  British, 
and  Cornwallis,  with  seven  thousand  of  the  best 
troops,  started  from  New  York  to  redeem  what  had 
been  lost.  Leaving  three  regiments  at  Princeton, 
he  pushed  hotly  after  Washington,  who  fell  back 
behind  the  Assunpink  River,  skirmishing  heavily 
and  successfully.  When  Cornwallis  reached  the 
river  he  found  the  American  army  drawn  up  on 
the  other  side  awaiting  him.  An  attack  on  the 
bridge  was  repulsed,  and  the  prospect  looked  unin- 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  177 

viting.  Some  officers  urged  an  immediate  assault ; 
but  night  was  falling,  and  Cornwallis,  sure  of  the 
game,  decided  to  wait  till  the  morrow.  He,  too, 
forgot  that  he  was  facing  an  enemy  who  never 
overlooked  a  mistake,  and  never  waited  an  hour. 
With  quick  decision  Washington  left  his  camp-fires 
burning  on  the  river  bank,  and  taking  roundabout 
roads,  which  he  had  already  reconnoitred,  inarched 
on  Princeton.  By  sunrise  he  was  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town.  Mercer,  detached  with  some  three 
hundred  men,  fell  in  with  Mawhood's  regiment, 
and  a  sharp  action  ensued.  Mercer  was  mortally 
wounded,  and  his  men  gave  way  just  as  the  main 
army  came  upon  the  field.  The  British  charged, 
and  as  the  raw  Pennsylvanian  troops  in  the  van 
wavered,  Washington  rode  to  the  front,  an,d  rein 
ing  his  horse  within  thirty  yards  of  the  British, 
ordered  his  men  to  advance.  The  volleys  of  mus 
ketry  left  him  unscathed,  the  men  stood  firm,  the 
other  divisions  came  rapidly  into  action,  and  the 
enemy  gave  way  in  all  directions.  The  two  other 
British  regiments  were  driven  through  the  town 
and  routed.  Had  there  been  cavalry  they  would 
have  been  entirely  cut  off.  As  it  was,  they  were 
completely  broken,  and  in  this  short  but  bloody  ac 
tion  they  lost  five  hundred  men  in  killed,  wounded, 
and  prisoners.  It  was  too  late  to  strike  the  maga 
zines  at  Brunswick,  as  Washington  had  intended, 
and  so  he  withdrew  once  more  with  his  army  to  the 
high  lands  to  rest  and  recruit. 

His  work  was  done,  however.    The  country,  which 


178  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

had  been  supine,  and  even  hostile,  rose  now,  and 
the  British  were  attacked,  surprised,  and  cut  off  in 
all  directions,  until  at  last  they  were  shut  up  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  New  York.  The  tide  had 
been  turned,  and  Washington  had  won  the  precious 
breathing-time  which  was  all  he  required. 

Frederick  the  Great  is  reported  to  have  said  that 
this  was  the  most  brilliant  campaign  of  the  century. 
It  certainly  showed  all  the  characteristics  of  the 
highest  strategy  and  most  consummate  generalship. 
With  a  force  numerically  insignificant  as  compared 
with  that  opposed  to  him,  Washington  won  two 
decisive  victories,  striking  the  enemy  suddenly  with 
superior  numbers  at  each  point  of  attack.  The 
Trenton  campaign  has  all  the  quality  of  some  of 
the  last  battles  fought  by  Napoleon  in  France  be 
fore  his  retirement  to  Elba.  Moreover,  these  battles 
show  not  only  generalship  of  the  first  order,  but 
great  statesmanship.  They  display  that  prescient 
knowledge  which  recognizes  the  supreme  moment 
when  all  must  be  risked  to  save  the  state.  By 
Trenton  and  Princeton  Washington  inflicted  deadly 
blows  upon  the  enemy,  but  he  did  far  more  by  re 
viving  the  patriotic  spirit  of  the  country  fainting 
under  the  bitter  experience  of  defeat,  and  by  send 
ing  fresh  life  and  hope  and  courage  throughout  the 
whole  people. 

It  was  the  decisive  moment  of  the  war.  Sooner 
or  later  the  American  colonies  were  sure  to  part 
from  the  mother-country,  either  peaceably  or  vio 
lently.  But  there  was  nothing  inevitable  in  the 


SAVING   THE  REVOLUTION.  179 

Eevolntion  of  1776,  nor  was  its  end  at  all  certain. 
It  was  in  the  last  extremities  when  the  British 
overran  New  Jersey,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Washington  that  particular  revolution  would  have 
most  surely  failed.  Its  fate  lay  in  the  hands  of  the 
general  and  his  army ;  and  to  the  strong  brain  grow 
ing  ever  keener  and  quicker  as  the  pressure  became 
more  intense,  to  the  iron  will  gathering  a  more 
relentless  force  as  defeat  thickened,  to  the  high, 
unbending  character,  and  to  the  passionate  and 
fighting  temper  of  Washington,  we  owe  the  bril 
liant  campaign  which  in  the  darkest  hour  turned 
the  tide  and  saved  the  cause  of  the  Revolution. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
"MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY." 

AFTER  the  "two  lucky  strokes  at  Trenton  and 
Princeton,"  as  be  himself  called  them,  Washington 
took  up  a  strong  position  at  Morristown  and  waited. 
His  plan  was  to  hold  the  enemy  in  check,  and  to 
delay  all  operations  until  spring.  It  is  easy  enough 
now  to  state  his  purpose,  and  it  looks  very  simple, 
but  it  was  a  griui  task  to  carry  it  out  through  the 
bleak  winter  days  of  1777.  The  Jersey  farmers, 
spurred  by  the  sufferings  inflicted  upon  them  by 
the  British  troops,  had  turned  out  at  last  in  defer 
ence  to  Washington's  appeals,  after  the  victories  of 
Trenton  and  Princeton,  had  harassed  and  cut  off 
outlying  parties,  and  had  thus  straitened  the  move 
ments  of  the  enemy.  But  the  main  army  of  the 
colonies,  on  which  all  depended,  was  in  a  pitiable 
state.  It  shifted  its  character  almost  from  day  to 
day.  The  curse  of  short  enlistments,  so  denounced 
by  Washington,  made  itself  felt  now  with  frightful 
effect.  With  the  new  year  most  of  the  continental 
troops  departed,  while  others  to  replace  them  came 
in  very  slowly,  and  recruiting  dragged  most  weari 
somely.  Washington  was  thus  obliged,  with  tem 
porary  reinforcements  of  raw  militia,  to  keep  up 


MALICE    DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.    181 

appearances ;  and  no  commander  ever  struggled 
with  a  more  tryiDg  task.  At  times  it  looked  as  if 
the  whole  army  would  actually  disappear,  and  more 
than  once  Washington  expected  that  the  week's  or 
the  month's  end  would  find  him  with  not  more  than 
five  hundred  men.  At  the  beginning  of  March  he 
had  about  four  thousand  men,  a  few  weeks  later 
only  three  thousand  raw  troops,  ill-fed,  ill-clad,  ill- 
shod,  ill-armed,  and  almost  unpaid.  Over  against 
him  was  Howe,  with  eleven  thousand  men  in  the 
field,  and  still  more  in  the  city  of  New  York,  well 
disciplined  and  equipped,  well-armed,  well-fed,  and 
furnished  with  every  needful  supply.  The  contrast 
is  absolutely  grotesque,  and  yet  the  force  of  one 
man's  genius  and  will  was  such  that  this  excellent 
British  army  was  hemmed  in  and  kept  in  harmless 
quiet  by  their  ragged  opponents. 

Washington's  plan,  from  the  first,  was  to  keep 
the  field  at  all  hazards,  and  literally  at  all  hazards 
did  he  do  so.  Right  and  left  his  letters  went,  day 
after  day,  calling  with  pathetic  but  dignified  ear 
nestness  for  men  and  supplies.  In  one  of  these 
epistles,  to  Governor  Cooke  of  Rhode  Island,  written 
in  January,  to  remonstrate  against  raising  troops 
for  the  State  only,  he  set  forth  his  intentions  in  a 
few  words.  "You  must  be  sensible,"  he  said,  "that 
the  season  is  fast  approaching  when  a  new  cam 
paign  will  open  ;  nay,  the  former  is  not  yet  closed  ; 
nor  do  I  intend  it  shall  be,  unless  the  enemy  quits 
the  Jerseys."  To  keep  fighting  all  the  time,  and 
never  let  the  fire  of  active  resistance  flicker  or  die 


182  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

out,  was  Washington's  theory  of  the  way  to  main 
tain  his  own  side  and  beat  the  enemy.  If  he  could 
not  fight  big  battles,  he  would  fight  small  ones  ;  if 
he  could  not  fight  little  battles,  he  would  raid  and 
skirmish  and  surprise  ;  but  fighting  of  some  sort  he 
would  have,  while  the  enemy  attempted  to  spread 
over  a  State  and  hold  possession  of  it.  We  can  see 
the  obstacles  now,  but  we  can  only  wonder  how  they 
were  sufficiently  overcome  to  allow  anything  to  be 
done. 

Moreover,  besides  the  purely  physical  difficulties 
in  the  lack  of  men,  money,  and  supplies,  there  were 
others  of  a  political  and  personal  kind,  which  were 
even  more  wearing  and  trying,  but  which,  never 
theless,  had  to  be  dealt  with  also,  in  some  fashion. 
In  order  to  sustain  the  courage  of  the  people 
Washington  was  obliged  to  give  out,  and  to  allow  it 
to  be  supposed,  that  he  had  more  men  than  was 
really  the  case,  and  so  Congress  and  various  wise 
and  well-meaning  persons  grumbled  because  he  did 
not  do  more  and  fight  more  battles.  He  never  de 
ceived  Congress,  but  they  either  could  not  or  would 
not  understand  the  actual  situation.  In  March  he 
wrote  to  Robert  Morris  :  "  Nor  is  it  in  my  power  to 
make  Congress  fully  sensible  of  the  real  situation 
of  our  affairs,  and  that  it  is  with  difficulty,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  that  I  can  by  every  means  in 
my  power  keep  the  life  and  soul  of  this  army  to 
gether.  In  a  word,  when  they  are  at  a  distance, 
they  think  it  is  but  to  say,  Presto,  begone,  and  every 
thing  is  done.  They  seem  not  to  have  any  concep- 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    183 

tion  of  the  difficulty  and  perplexity  attending1  those 
who  are  to  execute."  It  was  so  easy  to  see  what 
they  would  like  to  have  done,  and  so  simple  to  pass 
a  resolve  to  that  effect,  that  Congress  never  could 
appreciate  the  reality  of  the  difficulty  and  the  danger 
until  the  hand  of  the  enemy  was  almost  at  their 
throats.  They  were  not  even  content  with  delay 
and  neglect,  but  interfered  actively  at  times,  as 
in  the  matter  of  the  exchange  of  prisoners,  where 
they  made  unending  trouble  for  Washington,  and 
showed  themselves  unable  to  learn  or  to  keep  their 
hands  off  after  any  amount  of  instruction. 

In  January  Washington  issued  a  proclamation 
requiring  those  inhabitants  who  had  subscribed  to 
Howe's  declaration  to  come  in  within  thirty  days 
and  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  United  States. 
If  they  failed  to  do  so  they  were  to  be  treated  as 
enemies.  The  measure  was  an  eminently  proper 
one,  and  the  proclamation  was  couched  in  the  most 
moderate  language.  It  was  impossible  to  permit 
a  large  class  of  persons  to  exist  on  the  theory  that 
they  were  peaceful  American  citizens  and  also  sub 
jects  of  King  George.  The  results  of  such  con 
duct  were  in  every  way  perilous  and  intolerable, 
and  Washington  was  determined  that  he  would 
divide  the  sheep  from  the  goats,  and  know  whom 
he  was  defending  and  whom  attacking.  Yet  for 
this  wise  and  necessary  action  he  was  called  in 
question  in  Congress  and  accused  of  violating  civil 
rights  and  the  resolves  of  Congress.  Nothing  was 

*— '  O  O 

actually  done  about  it,  but  such  an  incident  shows 


184  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

from  a  single  point  the  infinite  tact  and  resolution 
required  in  waging  war  under  a  government  whose 
members  were  unable  to  comprehend  what  was 
meant,  and  who  could  not  see  that  until  they  had 
beaten  England  it  was  hardly  worth  while  to  worry 
about  civil  rights,  which  in  case  of  defeat  would 
speedily  cease  to  exist  altogether. 

Another  fertile  source  of  trouble  arose  from 
questions  of  rank.  Members  of  Congress,  in  mak 
ing  promotions  and  appointments,  were  more  apt  to 
consider  local  claims  than  military  merit,  and  they 
also  allowed  their  own  personal  prejudices  to  affect 
their  action  in  this  respect  far  too  much.  Thence 
arose  endless  heart-burnings  and  jealousies,  fol 
lowed  by  resignations  and  the  loss  of  valuable  offi 
cers.  Congress,  having  made  the  appointments, 
would  go  cheerfully  about  its  business,  while  the 
swarm  of  grievances  thus  let  loose  would  come  buz 
zing  about  the  devoted  head  of  the  commander- 
in-chief.  He  could  not  get  away,  but  was  com 
pelled  to  quiet  rivalries,  allay  irritated  feelings,  and 
ride  the  storm  as  best  he  might.  It  was  all  done, 
however,  in  one  way  or  another :  by  personal  ap 
peals,  and  by  letters  full  of  dignity,  patriotism,  and 
patience,  which  are  very  impressive  and  full  of 
meaning  for  students  of  character,  even  in  this  day 
and  generation. 

X'Then  again,  not  content  with  snarling  up  our 
native  appointments,  Congress  complicated  matters 
still  more  dangerously  by  its  treatment  of  for 
eigners.  The  members  of  Congress  were  colonists, 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.    185 

and  the  fact  that  they  had  shaken  off  the  yoke  of 
the  mother  country  did  not  in  the  least  alter  their 
colonial  and  perfectly  natural  habit  of  regarding 
with  enormous  respect  Englishmen  and  French 
men,  and  indeed  anybody  who  had  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  born  in  Europe.  The  result  was  that 
they  distributed  commissions  and  gave  inordinate 
rank  to  the  many  volunteers  who  came  over  the 
ocean,  actuated  by  various  motives,  but  all  filled 
with  a  profound  sense  of  their  own  merits.  It  is 
only  fair  to  Congress  to  say  that  the  American 
agents  abroad  were  even  more  to  blame  in  this 
respect.  Silas  Deane  especially  scattered  promises 
of  commissions  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  Congress  re 
fused  to  fulfil  many  of  the  promises  thus  made  in 
its  name.  Nevertheless,  Congress  was  far  too  lax, 
and  followed  too  closely  the  example  of  its  agents. 
Some  of  these  foreigners  were  disinterested  men 
and  excellent  soldiers,  who  proved  of  great  value  to 
the  American  cause.  Many  others  were  mere  mili 
tary  adventurers,  capable  of  being  turned  to  good 
account,  perhaps,  but  by  no  means  entitled  to  what 
they  claimed  and  in  most  instances  received. 

The  ill-considered  action  of  Congress  and  of  our 
agents  abroad  in  this  respect  was  a  source  of  con 
stantly  recurring  troubles  of  a  very  serious  nature. 
Native  officers,  who  had  borne  the  burden  and  heat 
of  the  day,  justly  resented  being  superseded  by 
some  stranger,  unable  to  speak  the  language,  who 
had  landed  in  the  states  but  a  few  days  before.  As 
a  result,  resignations  were  threatened  which,  if 


186  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

carried  out,  would  affect  the  character  of  the  army 
very  deeply.  Then  again,  the  foreigners  them 
selves,  inflated  by  the  eagerness  of  our  agents  and 
by  their  reception  at  the  hands  of  Congress,  would 
find  on  joining  the  army  that  they  could  get  no 
commands,  chiefly  because  there  were  none  to  give. 
They  would  then  become  dissatisfied  with  their 
rank  and  employment,  and  bitter  complaints  and 
recriminations  would  ensue.  All  these  difficulties, 
of  course,  fell  most  heavily  upon  the  commander-in- 
chief,  who  was  heartily  disgusted  with  the  whole 
business.  Washington  believed  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  said  over  and  over  again  in  various  and 
ever  stronger  terms,  that  this  was  an  American  war 
and  must  be  fought  by  Americans.  In  no  other 
way,  and  by  no  other  persons,  did  he  consider  that 
it  could  be  carried  to  any  success  worth  having. 
He  saw  of  course  the  importance  of  a  French  alli 
ance,  and  deeply  desired  it,  for  it  was  a  leading  ele 
ment  in  the  solution  of  the  political  and  military 
situation ;  but  alliance  with  a  foreign  power  was 
one  thing,  and  sporadic  military  volunteers  were 
another.  Washington  had  no  narrow  prejudices 
against  foreigners,  for  he  was  a  man  of  broad  and 
liberal  mind,  and  no  one  was  more  universally  be 
loved  and  respected  by  the  foreign  officers  than  he  ; 
but  he  was  intensely  American  in  his  feelings,  and  he 
would  not  admit  for  an  instant  that  the  American 
war  for  independence  could  be  righteously  fought 
or  honestly  won  by  others  than  Americans.  He 
was  well  aware  that  foreign  volunteers  had  a  value 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    187 

and  use  of  which  he  largely  and  gratefully  availed 
himself ;  but  he  was  exasperated  and  alarmed  by 
the  indiscriminate  and  lavish  way  in  which  our 
agents  abroad  and  Congress  gave  rank  and  office 
to  them.  "  Hungry  adventurers,"  he  called  them  in 
one  letter,  when  driven  beyond  endurance  by  the 
endless  annoyances  thus  forced  upon  him ;  and  so 
he  pushed  their  pretensions  aside,  and  managed,  on 
the  whole,  to  keep  them  in  their  proper  place.  The 
operation  was  delicate,  difficult,  and  unpleasant,  for 
it  seemed  to  savor  of  ingratitude.  But  Washington 
was  never  shaken  for  an  instant  in  his  policy,  and 
while  he  checked  the  danger,  he  showed  in  many  in 
stances,  like  Lafayette  and  Steuben,  that  he  could 
appreciate  and  use  all  that  was  really  valuable  in 
the  foreign  contingent. 

The  service  rendered  by  Washington  in  this 
matter  has  never  been  justly  understood  or  ap 
preciated.  If  he  had  not  taken  this  position,  and 
held  it  with  an  absolute  firmness  which  bordered 
on  harshness,  we  should  have  found  ourselves  in  a 
short  time  with  an  army  of  American  soldiers  offi 
cered  by  foreigners,  many  of  them  mere  merce 
naries,  "hungry  adventurers."  from  France,  Poland 
or  Hungary,  from  Germany,  Ireland  or  England. 
The  result  of  such  a  combination  would  have  been 
disorganization  and  defeat.  That  members  of  Con 
gress  and  some  of  our  representatives  in  Europe  did 
not  see  the  danger,  and  that  they  were  impressed 
by  the  foreign  officers  who  came  among  them,  was 
perfectly  natural.  Men  are  the  creatures  of  the 


188  GEORGE  WASHINGTON, 

time  in  which  they  live,  and  take  their  color  from 
the  conditions  which  surround  them,  as  the  chame 
leon  does  from  the  grass  or  leaves  in  which  it  hides. 
The  rulers  and  lawmakers  of  1776  could  not  cast 
off  their  provincial  awe  of  the  natives  of  England 
and  Europe  as  they  cast  off  their  political  alle 
giance  to  the  British  king.  The  only  wonder  is 
that  there  should  have  been  even  one  man  so  great 
in  mind  and  character  that  he  could  rise  at  a  single 
bound  from  the  level  of  a  provincial  planter  to  the 
heights  of  a  great  national  leader.  He  proved  him 
self  such  in  all  ways,  but  in  none  more  surely  than 
in  his  ability  to  consider  all  men  simply  as  men, 
and,  with  a  judgment  that  nothing  could  confuse, 
to  ward  off  from  his  cause  and  country  the  dangers 
inherent  in  colonial  habits  of  thought  and  action, 
so  menacing  to  a  people  struggling  for  indepen 
dence.  We  can  see  this  strong,  high  spirit  of 
nationality  running  through  Washington's  whole 
career,  but  it  never  did  better  service  than  when  it 
stood  between  the  American  army  and  lavish  favor 
to  foreign  volunteers. 

Among  other  disagreeable  and  necessary  truths, 
Washington  had  told  Congress  that  Philadelphia 
was  in  danger,  that  Howe  probably  meant  to  oc 
cupy  it,  and  that  it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to 
prevent  his  doing  so.  This  warning  being  given 
and  unheeded,  he  continued  to  watch  his  antago 
nist,  doing  so  with  increased  vigilance,  as  signs  of 
activity  began  to  appear  in  New  York.  Toward 
the  end  of  May  he  broke  up  his  cantonments, 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    189 

having  now  about  seven  thousand  men,  and  took  a 
strong  position  within  ten  miles  of  Brunswick. 
Here  he  waited,  keeping  an  anxious  eye  on  the 
Hudson  in  case  he  should  be  mistaken  in  his  ex 
pectations,  and  should  find  that  the  enemy  really 
intended  to  go  north  to  meet  Burgoyiie  instead  of 
south  to  capture  Philadelphia. 

Washington's  doubts  were  soon  to  be  resolved 
and  his  expectations  fulfilled.  May  31st,  a  fleet 
of  a  hundred  sail  left  New  York,  and  couriers 
were  at  once  sent  southward  to  warn  the  States 
of  the  possibility  of  a  speedy  invasion.  About  the 
same  time  transports  arrived  with  more  German 
mercenaries,  and  Howe,  thus  reinforced,  entered 
the  Jerseys.  Washington  determined  to  decline 
battle,  and  if  the  enemy  pushed  on  and  crossed  the 
Delaware,  to  hang  heavily  on  their  rear,  while  the 
militia  from  the  south  were  drawn  up  to  Philadel 
phia.  He  adopted  this  course  because  he  felt  con 
fident  that  Howe  would  never  cross  the  Delaware 
and  leave  the  main  army  of  the  Americans  behind 
him.  His  theory  proved  correct.  The  British 
advanced  and  retreated,  burned  houses  and  villages 
and  made  feints,  but  all  in  vain.  Washington 
baffled  them  at  every  point,  and  finally  Sir  Wil 
liam  evacuated  the  Jerseys  entirely  and  withdrew 
to  New  York  and  Staten  Island,  where  active 
preparations  for  some  expedition  were  at  once 
begun.  Again  came  anxious  watching,  with  the 
old  fear  that  Howe  meant  to  go  northward  and 
join  the  now  advancing  Burgoyne.  The  fear  was 


190  GEORGE    WASHINGTON. 

groundless.  On  July  23d  the  British  fleet  set  sail 
from  New  York,  carrying  between  fifteen  and  eigh 
teen  thousand  men.  Not  deceived  by  the  efforts 
to  make  him  think  that  they  aimed  at  Boston, 
but  still  fearing  that  the  sailing  might  be  only 
a  ruse  and  the  Hudson  the  real  object  after  all, 
Washington  moved  cautiously  to  the  Delaware, 
holding  himself  ready  to  strike  in  either  direction. 
On  the  31st  he  heard  that  the  enemy  were  at  the 
Capes.  This  seemed  decisive  ;  so  he  sent  in  all  di 
rections  for  reinforcements,  moved  the  main  army 
rapidly  to  Germantown,  and  prepared  to  defend 
Philadelphia.  The  next  news  was  that  the  fleet 
had  put  to  sea  again,  and  again  messengers  went 
north  to  warn  Putnam  to  prepare  for  the  defence 
of  the  Hudson.  Washington  himself  was  about 
to  re-cross  the  Delaware,  when  tidings  arrived  that 
the  fleet  had  once  more  appeared  at  the  Capes,  and 
after  a  few  more  days  of  doubt  the  ships  came  up 
the  Chesapeake  and  anchored. 

Washington  thought  the  "  route  a  strange  one," 
but  he  knew  now  that  he  was  right  in  his  belief 
that  Howe  aimed  at  Philadelphia.  He  therefore 
gathered  his  forces  and  marched  south  to  meet  the 
enemy,  passing  through  the  city  in  order  to  im 
press  the  disaffected  and  the  timid  with  the  show 
of  force.  It  was  a  motley  array  that  followed  him. 
There  was  nothing  uniform  about  the  troops  except 
their  burnished  arms  and  the  sprigs  of  evergreen  in 
their  hats.  Nevertheless  Lafayette,  who  had  just 
come  among  them,  thought  that  they  looked  like 


[(UNIVERSITY  )1 

MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND 


good  soldiers,  and  the  Tories  woke  up  sharply  to 
the  fact  that  there  was  a  large  body  of  men  known 
as  the  American  army,  and  that  they  had  a  certain 
obvious  fighting  capacity  visible  in  their  appear 
ance.  Neither  friends  nor  enemies  knew,  however, 
as  they  stood  on  the  Philadelphia  sidewalks  and 
watched  the  troops  go  past,  that  the  mere  fact  of 
that  army's  existence  was  the  greatest  victory  of 
skill  and  endurance  which  the  war  could  show,  and 
that  the  question  of  success  lay  in  its  continuance. 

Leaving  Philadelphia,  Washington  pushed  on  to 
the  junction  of  the  Brandywine  and  Christiana 
Creek,  and  posted  his  men  along  the  heights.  Au 
gust  25th,  Howe  landed  at  the  Head  of  Elk,  and 
Washington  threw  out  light  parties  to  drive  in 
cattle,  carry  off  supplies,  and  annoy  the  enemy. 
This  was  done,  on  the  whole,  satisfactorily,  and  af 
ter  some  successful  skirmishing  on  the  part  of  the 
Americans,  the  two  armies  on  the  5th  of  Septem 
ber  found  themselves  within  eight  or  ten  miles  of 
each  other.  Washington  now  determined  to  risk  a 
battle  in  the  field,  despite  his  inferiority  in  every 
way.  He  accordingly  issued  a  stirring  proclama 
tion  to  the  soldiers,  and  then  fell  back  behind  the 
Brandywine,  to  a  strong  position,  and  prepared  to 
contest  the  passage  of  the  river. 

Early  on  September  llth,  the  British  advanced 
to  Chad's  Ford,  where  Washington  was  posted 
with  the  main  body,  and  after  some  skirmishing 
began  to  cannonade  at  long  range.  Meantime 
Cornwallis,  with  the  main  body,  made  a  long  detour 


192  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

of  seventeen  miles,  and  came  upon,  the  right  flank 
and  rear  of  the  Americans.  Sullivan,  who  was  on 
the  right,  had  failed  to  guard  the  fords  above,  and 
through  lack  of  information  was  practically  sur 
prised.  Washington,  on  rumors  that  the  enemy 
were  marching  toward  his  right,  with  the  instinct 
of  a  great  soldier  was  about  to  cross  the  river  in 
his  front  and  crush"  the  enemy  there,  but  he  also 
was  misled  and  kept  back  by  false  reports.  When 
the  truth  was  known,  it  was  too  late.  The  right 
wing  had  been  beaten  and  flung  back,  the  enemy 
were  nearly  in  the  rear,  and  were  now  advancing  in 
earnest  in  front.  All  that  man  could  do  was  done. 
Troops  were  pushed  forward  and  a  gallant  stand 
was  made  at  various  points  ;  but  the  critical  moment 
had  come  and  gone,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  a  hasty  retreat,  which  came  near  degenerating 
into  a  rout. 

The  causes  of  this  complete  defeat,  for  such  it 
was,  are  easily  seen.  Washington  had  planned 
his  battle  and  chosen  his  position  well.  If  he  had 
not  been  deceived  by  the  first  reports,  he  even 
then  would  have  fallen  upon  and  overwhelmed  the 
British  centre  before  they  could  have  reached  his 
right  wing.  But  the  Americans,  to  begin  with, 
were  outnumbered.  They  had  only  eleven  thou 
sand  effective  men,  while  the  British  brought  fif 
teen  of  their  eighteen  thousand  into  action.  Then 
the  Americans  suffered,  as  they  constantly  did, 
from  misinformation,  and  from  an  absence  of  sys 
tem  in  learning  the  enemy's  movements.  Wash- 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,    AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.    193 

ington's  attack  was  fatally  checked  in  this  way,  and 
Sullivan  was  surprised  from  the  same  causes,  as 
well  as  from  his  own  culpable  ignorance  of  the 
country  beyond  him,  which  was  the  reason  of  his 
failure  to  guard  the  upper  fords.  The  Americans 
lost,  also,  by  the  unsteadiness  of  new  troops  when 
the  unexpected  happens,  and  when  the  panic-bear 
ing  notion  that  they  are  surprised  and  likely  to  be 
surrounded  comes  upon  them  with  a  sudden  shock. 

This  defeat  was  complete  and  severe,  and  it 
was  followed  in  a  few  days  by  that  of  Wayne, 
who  narrowly  escaped  utter  ruin.  Yet  through  all 
this  disaster  we  can  see  the  advance  which  had 
been  made  since  the  equally  unfortunate  and  very 
similar  battle  on  Long  Island.  Then,  the  troops 
seemed  to  lose  heart  and  courage,  the  army  was 
held  together  with  difficulty,  and  could  do  nothing 
but  retreat.  Now,  in  the  few  days  which  Howe,  as 
usual,  gave  us  with  such  fatal  effect  to  himself, 
Washington  rallied  his  army,  and  finding  them  in 
excellent  spirits  marched  down  the  Lancaster  road 
to  fight  again.  On  the  eve  of  battle  a  heavy  storm 
came  on,  which  so  injured  the  arms  and  munitions 
that  with  bitter  disappointment  he  was  obliged  to 
withdraw,  but  nevertheless  it  is  plain  how  much 
this  forward  movement  meant.  At  the  moment, 
however,  it  looked  badly  enough,  especially  after 
the  defeat  of  Wayne,  for  Howe  pressed  forward, 
took  possession  of  Philadelphia,  and  encamped  the 
main  body  of  his  army  at  Germantown. 

Meantime  Washington,  who  had  not  in  the  least 


194  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

given  up  his  idea  of  fighting  again,  recruited  his 
army,  and  having  a  little  more  than  eight  thousand 
men,  determined  to  try  another  stroke  at  the  British, 
while  they  were  weakened  by  detachments.  On 
the  night  of  October  3d  he  started,  and  reached 
German  town  at  daybreak  on  the  4th.  At  first 
the  Americans  swept  everything  before  them,  and 
flung  the  British  back  in  rout  and  confusion.  Then 
matters  began  to  go  wrong,  as  is  always  likely  to 
happen  when,  as  in  this  case,  widely  separated 
and  yet  accurately  concerted  action  is  essential  to 
success.  Some  of  the  British  threw  themselves  into 
a  stone  house,  and  instead  of  leaving  them  there 
under  guard,  the  whole  army  stopped  to  besiege, 
and  a  precious  half  hour  was  lost.  Then  Greene 
and  Stephen  were  late  in  coming  up,  having  made 
a  circuit,  and  although  when  they  arrived  all  seemed 
to  go  well,  the  Americans  were  seized  with  an  in 
explicable  panic,  and  fell  back,  as  Wayne  truly 
said,  in  the  very  moment  of  victory.  One  of  those 
unlucky  accidents,  utterly  unavoidable,  but  always 
dangerous  to  extensive  combinations,  had  a  prin 
cipal  effect  on  the  result.  The  morning  was  very 
misty,  and  the  fog,  soon  thickened  by  the  smoke, 
caused  confusion,  random  firing,  and,  worst  of  all, 
that  uncertainty  of  feeling  and  action  which  some 
thing  or  nothing  converted  into  a  panic.  Never 
theless,  the  Americans  rallied  quickly  this  time, 
and  a  good  retreat  was  made,  under  the  lead  of 
Greene,  until  safety  was  reached.  The  action, 
while  it  lasted,  had  been  very  sharp,  and  the  losses 


MALICE  DOMKSTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    195 

on  both  sides  were  severe,  the  Americans  suffering 
most. 

Washington,  as  usual  when  matters  went  ill,  ex 
posed  himself  recklessly,  to  the  great  alarm  of  his 
generals,  but  all  in  vain.  He  was  deeply  disap 
pointed,  and  expressed  himself  so  at  first,  for  he 
saw  that  the  men  had  unaccountably  given  way 
when  they  were  on  the  edge  of  victory.  The  under 
lying  cause  was  of  course,  as  at  Long  Island  and 
Brandywine,  the  unsteadiness  of  raw  troops,  and 
Washington  felt  rightly,  after  the  first  sting  had 
passed,  that  he  had  really  achieved  a  great  deal. 
Congress  applauded  the  attempt,  and  when  the 
smoke  of  the  battle  had  cleared  away,  men  gener 
ally  perceived  that  its  having  been  fought  at  all 
was  in  reality  the  important  fact.  It  made  also 
a  profound  impression  upon  the  French  cabinet. 
Eagerly  watching  the  course  of  events,  they  saw 
the  significance  of  the  fact  that  an  army  raised 
within  a  year  could  fight  a  battle  in  the  open  field, 
endure  a  severe  defeat,  and  then  take  the  offensive 
and  make  a  bold  and  well-planned  attack,  which 
narrowly  missed  being  overwhelmingly  successful. 
To  the  observant  and  trained  eyes  of  Europe,  the 
defeat  at  Germantown  made  it  evident  that  there 
was  fighting  material  among  these  untrained  colo 
nists,  capable  of  becoming  formidable  ;  and  that 
there  was  besides  a  powerful  will  and  directing 
mind,  capable  on  its  part  of  bringing  this  same 
material  into  the  required  shape  and  condition.  To 
dispassionate  onlookers,  England's  grasp  on  her 


196  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

colonies  appeared  to  be  slipping  away  very  rapidly. 
Washington  himself  saw  the  meaning  of  it  all 
plainly  enough,  for  it  was  but  the  development 
of  his  theory  of  carrying  on  the  war. 

There  is  no  indication,  however,  that  England 
detected,  in  all  that  had  gone  on  since  her  army 
landed  at  the  Head  of  Elk,  anything  more  than  a 
couple  of  natural  defeats  for  the  rebels.  General 
Howe  was  sufficiently  impressed  to  draw  in  his 
troops,  and  keep  very  closely  shut  up  in  Phila 
delphia,  but  his  country  was  not  moved  at  all. 
The  fact  that  it  had  taken  forty-seven  days  to  get 
their  army  from  the  Elk  Eiver  to  Philadelphia, 
and  that  in  that  time  they  had  fought  two  success 
ful  battles  and  yet  had  left  the  American  army 
still  active  and  menacing,  had  no  effect  upon  the 
British  mind.  The  English  were  thoroughly  satis 
fied  that  the  colonists  were  cowards  and  were  sure 
to  be  defeated,  no  matter  what  the  actual  facts 
might  be.  They  regarded  Washington  as  an  up 
start  militia  colonel,  and  they  utterly  failed  to  com 
prehend  that  they  had  to  do  with  a  great  soldier, 
who  was  able  to  organize  and  lead  an  army,  over 
come  incredible  difficulties,  beat  and  outgeneral 
them,  bear  defeat,  and  then  fight  again.  They 
were  unable  to  realize  that  the  mere  fact  that 
such  a  man  could  be  produced  and  such  an  army 
maintained  meant  the  inevitable  loss  of  colonies 
three  thousand  miles  away.  Men  there  were  in 
England,  undoubtedly,  like  Burke  and  Fox,  who 
felt  and  understood  the  significance  of  these  things, 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.    197 

but  the  mass  of  the  people,  as  well  as  the  aristocracy, 
the  king,  and  the  cabinet,  would  have  none  of 
them.  Rude  contempt  for  other  people  is  a  warm 
ing  and  satisfying  feeling,  no  doubt,  and  the  Eng 
lish  have  had  unquestionably  great  satisfaction 
from  its  free  indulgence.  No  one  should  grudge 
it  to  them,  least  of  all  Americans.  It  is  a  comfort 
for  which  they  have  paid,  so  far  as  this  country  is 
concerned,  by  the  loss  of  their  North  American 
colonies,  and  by  a  few  other  settlements  with  the 
United  States  at  other  and  later  times. 
•But  although  Washington  and  his  army  failed 
to  impress  England,  events  had  happened  in  the 
north,  during  this  same  summer,  which  were  so 
sharp-pointed  that  they  not  only  impressed  the 
English  people  keenly  and  unpleasantly,  but  they 
actually  penetrated  the  dull  comprehension  o£ 
George  III.  and  his  cabinet.  "  Why/'  asked  an 
English  lady  of  an  American  naval  officer,  in  the 
year  of  grace  1887  —  "  why  is  your  ship  named 
the  Saratoga?"  "Because,"  was  the  reply,  "at 
Saratoga  an  English  general  and  an  English  army 
of  more  than  five  thousand  men  surrendered  to  an 
American  army  and  laid  down  their  arms."  Al 
though  apparently  neglected  now  in  the  general 
scheme  of  British  education,  Saratoga  was  a  mem 
orable  event  in  the  summer  of  1777,  and  the  part 
taken  by  Washington  in  bringing  about  the  great 
result  has  never,  it  would  seem,  been  properly  set 
forth.  There  is  no  need  to  trace  here  the  history 
of  that  campaign,  but  it  is  necessary  to  show  how 


198  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

much  was  done  by  the  commander-in-chief,  five 
hundred  miles  away,  to  win  the  final  victory. 

In  the  winter  of  1776-77  reports  came  that  a 
general  and  an  army  were  to  be  sent  to  Canada  to 
invade  the  colonies  from  the  north  by  way  of  Lake 
Champlain.  The  news  does  not  seem  to  have  made 
a  very  deep  impression  generally,  nor  to  have  been 
regarded  as  anything  beyond  the  ordinary  course 
of  military  events.  But  there  was  one  man,  fortu 
nately,  who  in  an  instant  perceived  the  full  signifi 
cance  of  this  movement.  Washington  saw  that  the 
English  had  at  last  found  an  idea,  or,  at  least,  a 
general  possessed  of  one.  So  long  as  the  British 
confined  themselves  to  fighting  one  or  two  battles, 
and  then,  taking  possession  of  a  single  town,  were 
content  to  sit  down  and  pass  their  winter  in  good 
quarters,  leaving  the  colonists  in  undisturbed  con 
trol  of  all  the  rest  of  the  country,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  feared.  The  result  of  such  campaigning  as 
this  could  not  be  doubtful  for  a  moment  to  any 
clear-sighted  man.  But  when  a  plan  was  on  foot, 
which,  if  successful,  meant  the  control  of  the  lakes 
and  the  Hudson,  and  of  a  line  of  communication 
from  the  north  to  the  great  colonial  seaport,  the 
case  was  very  different.  Such  a  campaign  as  this 
would  cause  the  complete  severance  of  New  Eng 
land,  the  chief  source  for  men  and  supplies,  from 
the  rest  of  the  colonies.  It  promised  the  mastery, 
not  of  a  town,  but  of  half  a  dozen  States,  and  this 
to  the  American  cause  probably  would  be  ruin. ) 

So  strongly  and  clearly    did   Washington    feel 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    199 

all  this  that  his  counter-plan  was  at  once  ready, 
and  before  people  had  fairly  grasped  the  idea  that 
there  was  to  be  a  northern  invasion,  he  was  send 
ing,  early  in  March,  urgent  letters  to  New  England 
to  rouse  up  the  militia  and  have  them  in  readiness 
to  march  at  a  moment's  notice.  To  Schuyler,  in 
command  of  the  northern  department,  he  began 
now  to  write  constantly,  and  to  unfold  the  methods 
which  must  be  pursued  in  order  to  compass  the  de 
feat  of  the  invaders.  His  object  was  to  delay  the 
army  of  Burgoyne  by  every  possible  device,  while 
steadily  avoiding  a  pitched  battle.  Then  the  militia 
and  hardy  farmers  of  New  England  and  New  York 
were  to  be  rallied,  and  were  to  fall  upon  the  flank 
and  rear  of  the  British,  harass  them  constantly,  cut 
off  their  outlying  parties,  and  finally  hem  them  in 
and  destroy  them.  If  the  army  and  people  of  the 
North  could  only  be  left  undisturbed,  it  is  evident 
from  his  letters  that  Washington  felt  no  doubt  as 
to  the  result  in  that  quarter. 

But  the  North  included  only  half  the  conditions 
essential  to  success.  The  grave  danger  feared  by 
Washington  was  that  Howe  would  understand  the 
situation,  and  seeing  his  opportunity,  would  throw 
everything  else  aside,  and  marching  northward 
with  twenty  thousand  men,  would  make  himself 
master  of  the  Hudson,  effect  a  junction  with  Bur 
goyne  at  Albany,  and  so  cut  the  colonies  in  twain. 
From  all  he  could  learn,  and  from  his  knowledge  of 
his  opponent's  character,  Washington  felt  satisfied 
that  Howe  intended  to  capture  Philadelphia,  ad- 


200  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

vancing,  probably,  through  the  Jerseys.  Yet,  de 
spite  his  well-reasoned  judgment  on  this  point,  it 
seemed  so  incredible  that  any  soldier  could  fail  to 
see  that  decisive  victory  lay  in  the  north,  and  in 
a  junction  with  Burgoyne,  that  Washington  could 
not  really  and  fully  believe  in  such  fatuity  until  he 
knew  that  Howe  was  actually  landing  at  the  Head 
of  Elk.  This  is  the  reason  for  the  anxiety  dis 
played  in  the  correspondence  of  that  summer,  for 
the  changing  and  shifting  movements,  and  for 
the  obvious  hesitation  of  opinion,  so  unusual  with 
Washington  at  any  time.  Be  it  remembered, 
moreover,  that  it  was  an  awful  doubt  \vhich  went 
to  bed  and  got  up  and  walked  with  him  through 
all  those  long  nights  and  days.  If  Howe,  the  dull 
and  lethargic,  should  awake  from  his  dream  of 
conquering  America  by  taking  now  and  again  an 
isolated  town,  and  should  break  for  the  north 
with  twenty  thousand  men,  the  fortunes  of  the 
young  republic  would  come  to  their  severest  test. 
In  that  event,  Washington  knew  well  enough 
what  he  meant  to  do.  He  would  march  his  main 
army  to  the  Hudson,  unite  with  the  strong  body  of 
troops  which  he  kept  there  constantly,  contest  every 
inch  of  the  country  and  the  river  with  Howe,  and 
keep  him  at  all  hazards  from  getting  to  Albany. 
But  he  also  knew  well  that  if  this  were  done  the 
odds  would  be  fearfully  against  him,  for  Howe 
would  then  not  only  outnumber  him  very  greatly, 
but  there  would  be  ample  time  for  the  British  to 
act,  and  but  a  short  distance  to  be  covered.  We 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    201 

can  imagine,  therefore,  his  profound  sense  of  relief 
when  he  found  that  Howe  and  his  army  were  really 
south  of  Philadelphia,  after  a  waste  of  many  pre 
cious  weeks.  He  could  now  devote  himself  single- 
hearted  to  the  defence  of  the  city,  for  distance  and 
time  were  at  last  on  his  side,  and  all  that  remained 
was  to  fight  Howe  so  hard  and  steadily  that  neither 
in  victory  nor  defeat  would  he  remember  Burgoyne. 
Pitt  said  that  he  would  conquer  Canada  on  the 
plains  of  Germany,  and  Burgoyne  was  compelled 
to  surrender  in  large  measure  by  the  campaign  of 
Washington  in  New  Jersey  and  Pennsylvania. 

If  we  study  carefully  Washington's  correspond 
ence  during  that  eventful  summer,  grouping  to 
gether  that  relating  to  the  northern  campaign,  and 
comparing  it  with  that  which  dealt  with  the  affairs 
of  his  own  army,  all  that  has  just  been  said  comes 
out  with  entire  clearness,  and  it  is  astonishing  to 
see  how  exactly  events  justified  his  foresight.  If 
he  could  only  hold  Howe  in  the  south,  he  was  quite 
willing  to  trust  Burgoyne  to  the  rising  of  the  peo 
ple  and  to  the  northern  wilderness.  Every  effort 
he  made  was  in  this  direction,  beginning,  as  has 
been  said,  by  his  appeals  to  the  New  England 
governors  in  March.  Schuyler,  on  his  part,  was 
thoroughly  imbued  with  Washington's  other  lead 
ing  idea,  that  the  one  way  to  victory  was  by  retard 
ing  the  enemy.  At  the  outset  everything  went 
utterly  and  disastrously  wrong.  Washington 
counted  on  an  obstinate  struggle,  and  a  long  delay 
at  Ticonderoga,  for  he  had  not  been  on  the  ground, 


202  GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

and  could  not  imagine  that  our  officers  would  for 
tify  everything  but  the  one  commanding  point. 

The  loss  of  the  forts  appalled  the  country  and 
disappointed  Washington,  but  did  not  shake  his 
nerve  for  an  instant.  He  wrote  to  Schuyler :  "  This 
stroke  is  severe  indeed,  and  has  distressed  us  much. 
But  notwithstanding  things  at  present  have  a  dark 
and  gloomy  aspect,  I  hope  a  spirited  opposition 
will  check  the  progress  of  General  Burgoyne's 
army,  arid  that  the  confidence  derived  from  his 
success  will  hurry  him  into  measures  that  will,  in 
their  consequences,  be  favorable  to  us.  We  should 
never  despair ;  our  situation  has  before  been  un 
promising,  and  has  changed  for  the  better  ;  so  I 
trust  it  will  again.  If  new  difficulties  arise  we 
must  only  put  forth  new  exertions,  and  proportion 
our  efforts  to  the  exigency  of  the  times."  Even 
after  this  seemingly  crushing  defeat  he  still  felt 
sure  of  Burgoyne,  so  long  as  he  was  unsupported. 
Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  again  bent  every 
nerve  to  rouse  New  England  and  get  out  her  militia. 
When  he  was  satisfied  that  Howe  was  landing  be 
low  Philadelphia,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  send 
forth  the  same  cry  in  the  same  quarter,  to  bring 
out  more  men  against  Burgoyne.  He  showed,  too, 
the  utmost  generosity  toward  the  northern  army, 
sending  thither  all  the  troops  he  could  possibly 
spare,  and  even  parting  with  his  favorite  corps  of 
Morgan's  riflemen.  Despite  his  liberality,  the 
commanders  in  the  north  were  unreasonable  in  their 
demands,  and  when  they  asked  too  much,  Washing- 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    203 

ton  flatly  declined  to  send  more  men,  for  he  would 
not  weaken  himself  unduly,  and  he  knew  what  they 
did  not  see,  that  the  fate  of  the  northern  invasion 
turned  largely  on  his  own  ability  to  cope  with 
Howe. 

The  blame  for  the  loss  of  the  forts  fell  of  course 
upon  Schuyler,  who  was  none  too  popular  in  Con 
gress,  and  who  with  St.  Clair  was  accordingly 
made  a  scape-goat.  Congress  voted  that  Wash 
ington  should  appoint  a  new  commander,  and  the 
New  England  delegates  visited  him  to  urge  the 
selection  of  Gates.  This  task  Washington  refused 
to  perform,  alleging  as  a  reason  that  the  northern 
department  had  always  been  considered  a  separate 
command,  and  that  he  had  never  done  more  than 
advise.  These  reasons  do  not  look  very  weighty 
or  very  strong,  and  it  is  not  quite  clear  what  the 
underlying;  motive  was.  Washington  never  shrank 

*/          O  O 

from  responsibility,  and  he  knew  very  well  that  he 
could  pick  out  the  best  man  more  unerringly  than 
Congress.  But  he  also  saw  that  Congress  favored 
Gates,  whom  he  would  not  have  chosen,  and  he 
therefore  probably  felt  that  it  was  more  important 
to  have  some  one  whom  New  England  believed  in 
and  approved  than  a  better  soldier  who  would  have 
been  unwelcome  to  her  representatives.  It  is  certain 
that  he  would  not  have  acted  thus,  had  he  thought 
that  generalship  was  an  important  element  in  the 
problem  ;  but  he  relied  on  a  popular  uprising,  and 
not  on  the  commander,  to  defeat  Burgoyne.  He 
may  have  thought,  too,  that  it  was  a  mistake  to 


204  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

relieve  Schuyler,  who  was  working  in  the  directions 
which  he  had  pointed  out,  and  who,  if  not  a  great 
soldier,  was  a  brave,  high-minded,  and  sensible  man, 
devoted  to  his  chief  and  to  the  country.  It  was 
Schuyler  indeed  who,  by  his  persistent  labor  in 
breaking  down  bridges,  tearing  up  roads,  and  fell 
ing  trees,  while  he  gathered  men  industriously  in 
all  directions,  did  more  than  any  one  else  at  that 
moment  to  prepare  the  way  for  an  ultimate  victory. 
Whatever  his  feelings  may  have  been  in  regard 
to  the  command  of  the  northern  department, 
Washington  made  no  change  in  his  own  course 
after  Gates  had  been  appointed.  He  knew  that 
Gates  was  at  least  harmless,  and  not  likely  to  block 
the  natural  course  of  events.  He  therefore  felt 
free  to  press  his  own  policy  without  cessation,  and 
without  apprehension.  He  took  care  that  Lincoln 
and  Arnold  should  be  there  to  look  after  the  New 
England  militia,  and  he  wrote  to  Governor  Clinton, 
in  whose  energy  and  courage  he  had  great  confi 
dence,  to  rouse  up  the  men  of  New  York.  He  sug 
gested  the  points  of  attack,  and  at  every  moment 
advised  and  counselled  and  watched,  holding  all  the 
while  a  firm  grip  on  Howe.  Slowly  and  surely  the 
net,  thus  painfully  set,  tightened  round  Burgoyne. 
The  New  Englanders  whipped  one  division  at  Ben- 
nington,  and  the  New  Yorkers  shattered  another  at 
Oriskany  and  Fort  Schuyler.  The  country  people 
turned  out  in  defence  of  their  invaded  homes  and 
poured  into  the  American  camp.  Burgoyne  strug 
gled  and  advanced,  fought  and  retreated.  Gates, 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.     205 

stupid,  lethargic,  and  good-natured,  did  nothing,  but 
there  was  no  need  of  generalship  ;  and  Arnold  was 
there,  turbulent  and  quarrelsome,  but  full  of  dar 
ing  ;  and  Morgan,  too,  equally  ready  ;  and  they  and 
others  did  all  the  necessary  fighting. 

Poor  Burgoyne,  a  brave  gentleman,  if  not  a  great 
general,  had  the  misfortune  to  be  a  clever  man  in 
the  service  of  a  stupid  administration,  and  he  met 
the  fate  usually  meted  out  under  such  circumstances 
to  men  of  ideas.  Howe  went  off  to  the  conquest  of 
Philadelphia,  Clinton  made  a  brief  burning  and 
plundering  raid  up  the  river,  and  the  northern  in 
vasion,  which  really  had  meaning,  was  left  to  its 
fate.  It  was  a  hard  fate,  but  there  was  no  escape. 
Outnumbered,  beaten,  and  caught,  Burgoyne  sur 
rendered.  If  there  had  been  a  fighting-man  at 
the  head  of  the  American  army,  the  British  would 
have  surrendered  as  prisoners  of  war,  and  not  on 
conditions.  Schuyler,  we  may  be  sure,  whatever 
his  failings,  would  never  have  let  them  off  so  easily. 
But  it  was  sufficient  as  it  was.  The  wilderness, 
and  the  militia  of  New  York  and  New  England 
swarming  to  the  defence  of  their  homes,  had  done 
the  work.  It  all  fell  out  just  as  Washington  had 
foreseen  and  planned,  and  England,  despising  her 
enemy  and  their  commander,  saw  one  of  her  armies 
surrender,  and  might  have  known,  if  she  had  had 
the  wit,  that  the  colonies  were  now  lost  forever. 
The  Revolution  had  been  saved  at  Trenton  ;  it 
was  established  at  Saratoga.  In  the  one  case  it 
was  the  direct,  in  the  other  the  indirect,  work  of 
Washington. 


206  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Poor  Gates,  with  his  dull  brain  turning  under 
the  impression  that  this  crowning  mercy  had  been 
his  own  doing,  lost  his  head,  forgot  that  there  was 
a  commander-in-chief,  and  sending  his  news  to  Con 
gress,  left  Washington  to  find  out  from  chance 
rumors,  and  a  tardy  letter  from  Putnam,  that  Bur- 
goyne  had  actually  surrendered.  This  gross  slight, 
however,  had  deeper  roots  than  the  mere  exultation 
of  victory  acting  on  a  heavy  and  common  mind.  It 
represented  a  hostile  feeling  which  had  been  slowly 
increasing  for  some  time,  which  had  been  carefully 
nurtured  by  those  interested  in  its  growth,  and 
which  blossomed  rapidly  in  the  heated  air  of  mil 
itary  triumph.  From  the  outset  it  had  been  Wash 
ington's  business  to  fight  the  enemy,  manage  the 
army,  deal  with  Congress,  and  consider  in  all  its 
bearings  the  political  situation  at  home  and  abroad  ; 
but  he  was  now  called  upon  to  meet  a  trouble  out 
side  the  line  of  duty,  and  to  face  attacks  from 
within,  which,  ideally  speaking,  ought  never  to  have 
existed,  but  which,  in  view  of  our  very  fallible 
humanity,  were  certain  to  come  sooner  or  later. 
Much  domestic  malice  Washington  was  destined 
to  encounter  in  the  later  years  of  political  strife, 
but  this  was  the  only  instance  in  his  military 
career  where  enmity  came  to  overt  action  and  open 
speech.  The  first  and  the  last  of  its  kind,  this 
assault  upon  him  has  much  interest,  for  a  strong 
light  is  thrown  upon  his  character  by  studying  him, 
thus  beset,  and  by  seeing  just  how  he  passed 
through  this  most  trying  and  disagreeable  of  or 
deals. 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    207 

The  germ  of  the  difficulties  was  to  be  found 
where  we  should  expect  it,  in  the  differences  be 
tween  the  men  of  speech  and  the  man  of  action, 
between  the  lawmakers  and  the  soldier.  Wash 
ington  had  been  obliged  to  tell  Congress  a  great 
many  plain  and  unpleasant  truths.  It  was  part  of 
his  duty,  and  he  did  it  accordingly.  He  was  al 
ways  dignified,  calm,  and  courteous,  but  he  had  an 
alarmingly  direct  way  with  him,  especially  when  he 
was  annoyed.  He  was  simple  almost  to  bluntness, 
but  now  and  then  would  use  a  grave  irony  which 
must  have  made  listening  ears  tingle.  Congress 
was  patriotic  and  well-intentioned,  and  on  the 
whole  stood  bravely  by  its  general,  but  it  was  un 
versed  in  war,  very  impatient,  and  at  times  wildly 
impracticable.  Here  is  a  letter  which  depicts  the 
situation,  and  the  relation  between  the  general  and 
his  rulers,  with  great  clearness.  March  14,  1777, 
Washington  wrote  to  the  President :  "  Could  I  ac 
complish  the  important  objects  so  eagerly  wished 
by  Congress,  —  '  confining  the  enemy  within  their 
present  quarters,  preventing  their  getting  supplies 
from  the  country,  and  totally  subduing  them  be 
fore  they  are  reinforced,'  --  I  should  be  happy  in 
deed.  But  what  prospect  or  hope  can  there  be  of 
my  effecting  so  desirable  a  work  at  this  time  ?  " 

We  can  imagine  how  exasperating  such  requests 
and  suggestions  must  have  been.  It  was  very  much 
as  if  Congress  had  said :  "  Good  General,  bring  in 
the  Atlantic  tides  and  drown  the  enemy ;  or  pluck 
the  moon  from  the  sky  and  give  it  to  us,  as  a  mark 


208  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

of  your  loyalty."  Such  requests  are  not  soothing  to 
any  man  struggling  his  best  with  great  anxieties,  and 
with  a  host  of  petty  cares.  Washington,  neverthe 
less,  kept  his  temper,  and  replied  only  by  setting 
down  a  few  hard  facts  which  answered  the  demands 
of  Congress  in  a  final  manner,  and  with  all  the 
sting  of  truth.  Thus  a  little  irritation  had  been 
generated  in  Congress  against  the  general,  and 
there  were  some  members  who  developed  a  good 
deal  of  pronounced  hostility.  Sam  Adams,  a  born 
agitator  and  a  trained  politician,  unequalled  almost 
in  our  history  as  an  organizer  and  manager  of 
men,  able,  narrow,  coldly  fierce,  the  man  of  the 
town  meeting  and  the  caucus,  had  no  possibility 
of  intellectual  sympathy  with  the  silent,  patient, 
hard-gripping  soldier,  hemmed  with  difficulties,  but 
ever  moving  straight  forward  to  his  object,  with 
occasional  wild  gusts  of  reckless  fighting  passion. 
John  Adams,  too,  brilliant  of  speech  and  pen,  ar 
dent,  patriotic,  and  high-minded,  was,  in  his  way, 
out  of  touch  with  Washington.  Although  he  moved 
Washington's  appointment,  he  began  almost  im 
mediately  to  find  fault  with  him,  an  exercise  to 
which  he  was  extremely  prone.  Inasmuch  as  he 
could  see  how  things  ought  to  be  done,  he  could 
not  understand  why  they  were  not  done  in  that  way 
at  once,  for  he  had  a  fine  forgetfulness  of  other 
people's  difficulties,  as  is  the  case  with  most  of  us. 
The  New  England  representatives  generally  took 
their  cue  from  these  two,  especially  James  Lovell, 
who  carried  his  ideas  into  action,  and  obtained  a 


MALICE    DOMESTIC,   AXD  FOREIGN  LEVY.     209 

little  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame  by  making  him 
self  disagreeably  conspicuous  in  the  intrigue  against 
the  coinmander-in-chief,  when  it  finally  developed. 

There  were  others,  too,  outside  New  England 
who  were  discontented,  and  among  them  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  from  the  General's  own  State.  He 
was  evidently  critical  and  somewhat  unfriendly  at 
this  time,  although  the  reasons  for  his  being  so  are 
not  now  very  distinct.  Then  there  was  Mr.  Clark 
of  New  Jersey,  an  excellent  man,  who  thought  the 
General  was  invading  popular  rights  ;  and  to  him 
others  might  be  added  who  vaguely  felt  that  things 
ought  to  be  better  than  they  were.  This  party,  ad 
verse  to  Washington,  obtained  the  appointment  of 
Gates  to  the  northern  department,  under  whom  the 
army  won  a  great  victory,  and  they  were  corre 
spondingly  happy.  John  Adams  wrote  his  wife 
that  one  cause  of  thanksgiving  was  that  the  tide 
had  not  been  turned  by  the  commander-in-chief 
and  southern  troops,  for  the  adulation  would  have 
been  intolerable  ;  and  that  a  man  may  be  wise  and 
virtuous  and  not  a  deity. 

Here,  so  far  as  the  leading  and  influential  men 
were  concerned,  the  matter  would  have  dropped, 
probably;  but  there  were  lesser  men  like  Lovell 
who  were  much  encouraged  by  the  surrender  of 
Burgoyne,  and  who  thought  that  they  now  might 
supplant  Washington  with  Gates.  Before  long, 
too,  they  found  in  the  army  itself  some  active  and 
not  over-scrupulous  allies.  The  most  conspicuous 
figure  among  the  military  malcontents  was  Gates 


210  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

himself,  who,  although  sluggish  in  all  things,  still 
had  a  keen  eye  for  his  own  advancement.  He 
showed  plainly  how  much  his  head  had  been  turned 
by  the  victory  at  Saratoga  when  he  failed  to  in 
form  Washington  of  the  fact,  and  when  he  after 
ward  delayed  sending  back  troops  until  he  was 
driven  to  it  by  the  determined  energy  of  Hamilton, 
who  was  sent  to  bring  him  to  reason.  Next  in  im 
portance  to  Gates  was  Thomas  Mifflin,  an  ardent 
patriot,  but  a  rather  light-headed  person,  who  es 
poused  the  opposition  to  Washington  for  causes 
now  somewhat  misty,  but  among  which  personal 
vanity  played  no  inconsiderable  part.  About  these 
two  leaders  gathered  a  certain  number  of  inferior 
officers  of  no  great  moment  then  or  since. 

The  active  and  moving  spirit  in  the  party,  how 
ever,  was  one  Conway,  an  Irish  adventurer,  who 
made  himself  so  prominent  that  the  whole  affair 
passed  into  history  bearing  his  name,  and  the 
"  Conway  cabal  "  has  obtained  an  enduring  noto 
riety  which  its  hero  never  acquired  by  any  public 
services.  Conway  was  one  of  the  foreign  officers 
who  had  gained  the  favor  of  Congress  and  held  the 
rank  of  brigadier-general,  but  this  by  no  means 
filled  the  measure  of  his  pretensions,  and  when 
De  Kalb  was  made  a  major-general  Conway  im 
mediately  started  forward  with  claims  to  the  same 
rank.  He  received  strong  support  from  the  fac 
tious  opposition,  and  there  was  so  much  stir  that 
Washington  sharply  interfered,  for  to  his  general 
objection  to  these  lavish  gifts  of  excessive  rank 


MALICE    DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    211 

was  added  an  especial  distrust  in  this  particular 
case.  In  his  calm  way  he  had  evidently  observed 
Conway,  and  with  his  unerring  judgment  of  men 
had  found  him  wanting.  "  I  may  add,"  he  wrote  to 
Lee,  "  and  I  think  with  truth,  that  it  will  give  a 
fatal  blow  to  the  existence  of  the  army.  Upon  so 
interesting  a  subject  I  must  speak  plainly.  General 
Conway's  merit  then  as  an  officer,  and  his  impor 
tance  in  this  army,  exist  more  in  his  own  imagina 
tion  than  in  reality."  This  plain  talk  soon  reached 
Conway,  drove  him  at  once  into  furious  opposition, 
and  caused  him  to  impart  to  the  faction  a  cohesion 
and  vigor  which  they  had  before  lacked.  Circum 
stances  favored  them.  The  victory  at  Saratoga 
gave  them  something  tangible  to  go  upon,  and  the 
first  move  was  made  when  Gates  failed  to  inform 
Washington  of  the  surrender,  and  then  held  back 
the  troops  sent  for  so  urgently  by  the  commander- 
in-chief,  who  had  sacrificed  so  much  from  his  own 
army  to  secure  that  of  the  north. 

At  this  very  moment,  indeed,  when  Washington 
was  calling  for  troops,  he  was  struggling  with  the 
utmost  tenacity  to  hold  control  of  the  Delaware. 
He  made  every  arrangement  possible  to  maintain 
the  forts,  and  the  first  assaults  upon  them  were 
repulsed  with  great  slaughter,  the  British  in  the 
attack  on  Fort  Mercer  losing  Count  Donop,  the 
leader,  and  four  hundred  men.  Then  came  a 
breathing  space,  and  then  the  attacks  were  re 
newed,  supported  by  vessels,  and  both  forts  were 
abandoned  after  the  works  had  been  levelled  to 


212  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  ground  by  the  enemy's  fire.  Meanwhile  Ham 
ilton,  sent  to  the  north,  had  done  his  work ;  Gates 
had  been  stirred,  and  Putnam,  well-meaning  but 
stubborn,  had  been  sharply  brought  to  his  bearings. 
Reinforcements  had  come,  and  Washington  medi 
tated  an  attack  on  Philadelphia.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  clamor  for  something  brilliant  and  decisive, 
for  both  the  army  and  the  public  were  a  little  dizzy 
from  the  effects  of  Saratoga,  and  with  sublime  blind 
ness  to  different  conditions,  could  not  see  why  the 
same  performance  should  not  be  repeated  to  order 
everywhere  else.  To  oppose  this  wish  was  trying, 
doubly  trying  to  a  man  eager  to  fight,  and  with  his 
full  share  of  the  very  human  desire  to  be  as  suc 
cessful  as  his  neighbor.  It  required  great  nerve  to 
say  No ;  but  Washington  did  not  lack  that  quality, 
and  as  general  and  statesman  he  reconnoitred  the 
enemy's  works,  weighed  the  chances,  said  No  deci 
sively,  and  took  up  an  almost  impregnable  position 
at  White  Marsh.  Thereupon  Howe  announced 
that  he  would  drive  Washington  beyond  the  moun 
tains,  and  on  December  4th  he  approached  the 
American  lines  with  this  highly  proper  purpose. 
There  was  some  skirmishing  along  the  foot  of  the 
hills  of  an  unimportant  character,  and  on  the  third 
day  Washington,  in  high  spirits,  thought  an  attack 
would  be  made,  and  rode  among  the  soldiers  direct 
ing  and  encouraging  them.  Nothing  came  of  it, 
however,  but  more  skirmishing,  and  the  next  day 
Howe  marched  back  to  Philadelphia.  He  had  of 
fered  battle  in  all  ways,  he  had  invited  action ;  but 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.    213 

again,  with  the  same  pressure  both  from  his  own 
spirit  and  from  public  opinion,  Washington  had 
said  No.  On  his  own  ground  he  was  more  than 
ready  to  fight  Howe,  but  despite  the  terrible  temp 
tation  he  would  fight  on  no  other.  Not  the  least 
brilliant  exploit  of  Wellington  was  the  retreat  to 
the  shrewdly  prepared  lines  of  Torres  Vedras,  and 
one  of  the  most  difficult  successes  of  Washington 
was  his  double  refusal  to  fight  as  the  year  1777 
drew  to  a  close. 

Like  most  right  and  wise  things,  Washington's 
action  looks  now,  a  century  later,  so  plainly  sensible 
that  it  is  hard  to  imagine  how  any  one  could  have 
questioned  it;  and  one  cannot,  without  a  great 
effort,  realize  the  awful  strain  upon  will  and  temper 
involved  in  thus  refusing  battle.  If  the  proposed 
attack  on  Philadelphia  had  failed,  or  if  our  army 
had  come  down  from  the  hills  and  been  beaten  in 
the  fields  below,  no  American  army  would  have 
remained.  The  army  of  the  north,  of  which  men 
were  talking  so  proudly,  had  done  its  work  and 
dispersed.  The  fate  of  the  Ke volution  rested 
where  it  had  been  from  the  beginning,  with  Wash 
ington  and  his  soldiers.  Drive  them  beyond  the 
mountains  and  there  was  no  other  army  to  fall 
back  upon.  On  their  existence  everything  hinged, 
and  when  Howe  got  back  to  Philadelphia,  there 
they  were  still  existent,  still  coherent,  hovering  on 
his  flank,  cooping  him  up  in  his  lines,  and  leaving 
him  master  of  little  more  than  the  ground  his  men 
encamped  upon,  and  the  streets  his  sentinels  pa- 


214  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

trolled.  When  Franklin  was  told  in  Paris  that 
Howe  had  taken  Philadelphia,  his  reply  was,  "  Phi 
ladelphia  has  taken  Howe." 

But,  with  the  exception  of  Franklin,  contempo 
rary  opinion  in  the  month  of  December,  1777,  was 
very  different  from  that  of  to-day,  and  the  cabal 
had  been  at  work  ever  since  the  commander-in- 
chief  had  stepped  between  Conway  and  the  exor 
bitant  rank  he  coveted.  Washington,  indeed,  was 
perfectly  aware  of  what  was  going  on.  He  was 
quiet  and  dignified,  impassive  and  silent,  but  he 
knew  when  men,  whether  great  or  small,  were  plot 
ting  against  him,  and  he  watched  them  with  the 
same  keenness  as  he  did  Howe  and  the  British.  ) 

In  the  midst  of  his  struggle  to  hold  the  Delaware 
forts,  and  of  his  efforts  to  get  back  his  troops  from 
the  north,  a  story  came  to  him  that  arrested  his  at 
tention.  Wilkinson,  of  Gates's  staff,  had  come  to 
Congress  with  the  news  of  the  surrender.  He  had 
been  fifteen  days  on  the  road  and  three  days  get 
ting  his  papers  in  order,  and  when  it  was  proposed 
to  give  him  a  sword,  Dr.  Witherspoon,  canny  Scot 
as  he  was,  suggested  that  they  had  better  "  gie  the 
lad  a  pair  of  spurs."  This  thrust  and  some  delay 
seem  to  have  nettled  Wilkinson,  who  was  swelling 
with  importance,  and  although  he  was  finally  made 
a  brigadier-general,  he  rode  off  to  the  north  much 
ruffled.  In  later  years  Wilkinson  was  secretive 
enough  ;  but  in  his  hot  youth  he  could  not  hold  his 
tongue,  and  on  his  way  back  to  Gates  he  talked. 
What  he  said  was  marked  and  carried  to  head- 


MALICE   DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    215 

quarters,  and  on  November  9th  Washington  wrote 
to  Conway : 

"  A  letter  which  I  received  last  night  contained  the 
following  paragraph,  —  *  In  a  letter  from  General  Con- 
way  to  General  Gates  he  says,  "  Heaven  lias  determined 
to  save  your  country,  or  a  weak  general  and  bad  coun 
sellors  ivould  have  ruined  it."  I  am,  sir,  your  humble 
servant,'  "  etc. 

This  curt  note  fell  upon  Conway  with  stunning 
effect.  It  is  said  that  he  tried  to  apologize,  and  he 
certainly  resigned.  As  for  Gates,  he  fell  to  writ 
ing  letters  filled  with  expressions  of  wonder  as  to 
who  had  betrayed  him,  and  writhed  most  pitiably 
under  the  exposure.  Washington's  replies  are 
models  of  cold  dignity,  and  the  calm  indifference 
with  which  he  treated  the  whole  matter,  while 
holding  Gates  to  the  point  with  relentless  grasp, 
is  very  interesting.  The  cabal  was  seriously  shaken 
by  this  sudden  blow.  It  must  have  dawned  upon 
them  dimly  that  they  might  have  mistaken  their 
man,  and  that  the  silent  soldier  was  perhaps  not 
so  easy  to  dispose  of  by  an  intrigue  as  they  had 
fancied.  Nevertheless,  they  rallied,  and  taking  ad 
vantage  of  the  feeling  in  Congress  created  by 
Burgoyne's  surrender,  they  set  to  work  to  get  con 
trol  of  military  matters.  The  board  of  war  was 
enlarged  to  five,  with  Gates  at  its  head  and  Mifflin 
a  member,  and,  thus  constituted,  it  proceeded  to 
make  Conway  inspector-general,  with  the  rank  of 
major-general.  This,  after  Conway 's  conduct,  was 
a  direct  insult  to  Washington,  and  marks  the  high 
est  point  attained  by  his  opponents. 


216       .  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

In  Congress,  too,  they  became  more  active,  and 
John  Jay  said  that  there  was  in  that  body  a  party 
bitterly  hostile  to  Washington.  We  know  little  of 
the  members  of  that  faction  now,  for  they  never 
took  the  trouble  to  refer  to  the  matter  in  after 
years,  and  did  everything  that  silence  could  do  to 
have  it  all  forgotten.  But  the  party  existed  none 
the  less,  and  significant  letters  have  come  down  to 
us,  one  of  them  written  by  Lovell,  and  two  anony 
mous,  addressed  respectively  to  Patrick  Henry  and 
to  Laurens,  then  president,  which  show  a  bitter  and 
vindictive  spirit,  and  breathe  but  one  purpose.  The 
same  thought  is  constantly  reiterated,  that  with  a 
good  general  the  northern  army  had  won  a  great 
victory,  and  that  the  main  army,  if  commanded  in 
the  same  way,  would  do  likewise.  The  plan  was 
simple  and  coherent.  The  cabal  wished  to  drive 
Washington  out  of  power  and  replace  him  with 
Gates.  With  this  purpose  they  wrote  to  Henry 
and  Laurens;  with  this  purpose  they  made  Con- 
way  inspector-general. 

When  they  turned  from  intrigue  to  action,  how 
ever,  they  began  to  fail.  One  of  their  pet  schemes 
was  the  conquest  of  Canada,  and  with  this  object 
Lafayette  was  sent  to  the  lakes,  only  to  find  that  no 
preparations  had  been  made,  because  the  origina 
tors  of  the  idea  were  ignorant  and  inefficient.  The 
expedition  promptly  collapsed  and  was  abandoned, 
with  much  instruction  in  consequence  to  Congress 
and  people.  Under  their  control  the  commissariat 
also  went  hopelessly  to  pieces,  and  a  committee  of 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.      217 

Congress  proceeded  to  Valley  Forge  and  found 
that  in  this  direction,  too,  the  new  managers  had 
grievously  failed.  Then  the  original  Con  way  let 
ter,  uncovered  so  unceremoniously  by  Washington, 
kept  returning  to  plague  its  author.  Gates's  corre 
spondence  went  on  all  through  the  winter,  and  with 
every  letter  Gates  floundered  more  and  more,  and 
Washington's  replies  grew  more  and  more  freezing 
and  severe.  Gates  undertook  to  throw  the  blame 
on  Wilkinson,  who  became  loftily  indignant  and 
challenged  him.  The  two  made  up  their  quarrel 
very  soon  in  a  ludicrous  manner,  but  Wilkinson  in 
the  interval  had  an  interview  with  Washington, 
which  revealed  an  amount  of  duplicity  and  perfidy 
on  the  part  of  the  cabal,  so  shocking  to  the  for 
mer's  sensitive  nature,  that  he  resigned  his  secre 
taryship  of  the  board  of  war  on  account,  as  he 
frankly  said,  of  the  treachery  a-nd  falsehood  of 
Gates.  Such  a  quarrel  of  course  hurt  the  cabal, 
but  it  was  still  more  weakened  by  Gates  himself, 
whose  only  idea  seemed  to  be  to  supersede  Wash 
ington  by  slighting  him,  refusing  troops,  and  de 
clining  to  propose  his  health  at  dinner,  —  methods 
as  unusual  as  they  were  feeble. 

The  cabal,  in  fact,  was  so  weak  in  ability  and 
character  that  the  moment  any  responsibility  fell 
upon  its  members  it  was  certain  to  break  down, 
but  the  absolutely  fatal  obstacle  to  its  schemes  was 
the  man  it  aimed  to  overthrow.  The  idea  evidently 
was  that  Washington  could  be  driven  to  resign. 
They  knew  that  they  could  not  get  either  Congress 


218  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

or  public  opinion  to  support  them  in  removing  him, 
but  they  believed  that  a  few  well  placed  slights  and 
insults  would  make  him  remove  himself.  It  was 
just  here  that  they  made  their  mistake.  Washing 
ton,  as  they  were  aware,  was  sensitive  and  high- 
spirited  to  the  last  degree,  and  he  had  no  love  for 
office,  but  he  was  not  one  of  those  weaklings  who 
leave  power  and  place  in  a  pet  because  they  are 
criticised  and  assailed.  He  was  not  ambitious  in 
the  ordinary  personal  sense,  but  he  had  a  passion 
for  success.  Whether  it  was  breaking  a  horse,  or 
reclaiming  land,  or  fighting  Indians,  or  saving  a 
state,  whatever  he  set  his  hand  to,  that  he  carried 
through  to  the  end.  With  him  there  never  was 
any  shadow  of  turning  back.  When,  without  any 
self-seeking,  he  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Rev 
olution,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  carry 
it  through  everything  to  victory,  if  victory  were 
possible.  Death  or  a  prison  could  stop  him,  but 
neither  defeat  nor  neglect,  and  still  less  the  forces 
of  intrigue  and  cabal. 

When  he  wrote  to  his  brother  announcing  Bur- 
goyne's  surrender,  he  had  nothing  to  say  of  the 
slight  Gates  put  upon  him,  but  merely  added  in  a 
postscript,  "  I  most  devoutly  congratulate  my  coun 
try  and  every  well-wisher  to  the  cause  on  this  sig 
nal  stroke  of  Providence."  This  was  his  tone  to 
every  one,  both  in  private  and  public.  His  com 
plaint  of  not  being  properly  notified  he  made  to 
Gates  alone,  and  put  it  in  the  form  of  a  rebuke. 
He  knew  of  the  movement  against  him  from  the 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.     219 

beginning,  but  apparently  the  first  person  he  con 
fided  in  was  Conway,  when  he  sent  him  the  brief 
note  of  November  9th.  Even  after  the  cabal  was 
fully  developed,  h^  wrote  about  it  only  once  or 
twice,  when  compelled  to  do  so,  and  there  is  no  evi 
dence  that  he  ever  talked  about  it  except,  perhaps, 
to  a  few  most  intimate  friends.  In  a  letter  to 
Patrick  Henry  he  said  that  he  was  obliged  to  allow 
a  false  impression  as  to  his  strength  to  go  abroad, 
and  that  he  suffered  in  consequence ;  and  he  added, 
with  a  little  touch  of  feeling,  that  while  the  yeo 
manry  of  New  York  and  New  England  poured  into 
the  camp  of  Gates,  outnumbering  the  enemy  two  to 
one,  he  could  get  no  aid  of  that  sort  from  Pennsyl 
vania,  and  still  marvels  were  demanded  of  him. 

Thus  he  went  on  his  way  through  the  winter, 
silent  except  when  obliged  to  answer  some  friend, 
and  always  ready  to  meet  his  enemies.  When 
Conway  complained  to  Congress  of  his  reception  at 
camp,  Washington  wrote  the  president  that  he  was 
not  given  to  dissimulation,  and  that  he  certainly 
had  been  cold  in  his  manner.  He  wrote  to  Lafay 
ette  that  slander  had  been  busy,  and  that  he  had 
urged  his  officers  to  be  cool  and  dispassionate  as  to 
Conway,  adding,  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  everything 
happens  for  the  best,  that  we  shall  triumph  over  all 
our  misfortunes,  and  in  the  end  be  happy ;  when, 
my  dear  Marquis,  if  you  will  give  me  your  company 
in  Virginia,  we  will  laugh  at  our  past  difficulties 
and  the  folly  of  others."  But  though  he  wrote  thus 
lightly  to  his  friends,  he  followed  Gates  sternly 


220  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

enough,  and  kept  that  gentleman  occupied  as  he 
drove  him  from  point  to  point.  Among  other 
things  he  touched  upon  Conway's  character  with 
sharp  irony,  saying,  "  It  is,  however,  greatly  to  be 
lamented  that  this  adept  in  military  science  did 
not  employ  his  abilities  in  the  progress  of  the  cam 
paign,  in  pointing  out  those  wise  measures  which 
were  calculated  to  give  us  4  that  degree  of  success 
we  could  reasonably  expect.' ' 

Poor  Gates  did  not  find  these  letters  pleasant 
reading,  and  one  more  curt  note,  on  February  24th, 
finished  the  controversy.  By  that  time  the  cabal 
was  falling  to  pieces,  and  in  a  little  while  was  dis 
persed.  Wilkinson's  resignation  was  accepted,  Mif- 
flin  was  put  under  Washington's  orders,  and  Gates 
was  sent  to  his  command  in  the  north.  Conway 
resigned  one  day  in  a  pet,  and  found  his  resigna 
tion  accepted  and  his  power  gone  with  unpleasant 
suddenness.  He  then  got  into  a  quarrel  with  Gen 
eral  Cadwalader  on  account  of  his  attacks  on  the 
commander-in-chief.  The  quarrel  ended  in  a  duel. 
Conway  was  badly  wounded,  and  thinking  himself 
dying,  wrote  a  contrite  note  of  apology  to  Wash 
ington,  then  recovered,  left  the  country,  and  dis 
appeared  from  the  ken  of  history.  Thus  domes 
tic  malice  and  the  "  bitter  party "  in  Congress 
failed  and  perished.  They  had  dashed  themselves 
in  vain  against  the  strong  man  who  held  firmly 
both  soldiers  and  people.  "  While  the  public  are 
satisfied  with  my  endeavors,  I  mean  not  to  shrink 
from  the  cause."  So  Washington  wrote  to  Gordon 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.     221 

as  the  cabal  was  coming  to  an  end,  and  in  that 
spirit  he  crushed  silently  and  thoroughly  the  fac 
tion  that  sought  to  thwart  his  purpose,  and  drive 
him  from  office  by  sneers,  slights,  and  intrigues. 

These  attacks  upon  him  came  at  the  darkest 
moment  of  his  military  career.  Defeated  at  Brandy- 
wine  and  Germantown,  he  had  been  forced  from 
the  forts  after  a  desperate  struggle,  had  seen  Phila 
delphia  and  the  river  fall  completely  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy,  and,  bitterest  of  all,  he  had  been 
obliged  to  hold  back  from  another  assault  on  the 
British  lines,  and  to  content  himself  with  baffling 
Howe  when  that  gentleman  came  out  and  offered 
battle.  Then  the  enemy  withdrew  to  their  com 
fortable  quarters,  and  he  was  left  to  face  again  the 
harsh  winter  and  the  problem  of  existence.  It  was 
the  same  ever  recurring  effort  to  keep  the  Ameri 
can  army,  and  thereby  the  American  Revolution, 
alive.  There  was  nothing  in  this  task  to  stir  the 
blood  and  rouse  the  heart.  It  was  merely  a  ques 
tion  of  grim  tenacity  of  purpose  and  of  the  ability 
to  comprehend  its  overwhelming  importance.  It 
was  not  a  work  that  appealed  to  or  inspirited  any 
one,  and  to  carry  it  through  to  a  successful  issue 
rested  with  the  commander-in-chief  alone. 

In  the  frost  and  snow  he  withdrew  to  Valley 
Forge,  within  easy  striking  distance  of  Philadel 
phia.  He  had  literally  nothing  to  rely  upon  but 
his  own  stern  will  and  strong  head.  His  soldiers, 
steadily  dwindling  in  numbers,  marked  their  road 
to  Valley  Forge  by  the  blood  from  their  naked  feet. 


222  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

They  were  destitute  and  in  rags.  When  they 
reached  their  destination  they  had  no  shelter,  and 
it  was  only  by  the  energy  and  ingenuity  of  the 
General  that  they  were  led  to  build  huts,  and  thus 
secure  a  measure  of  protection  against  the  weather. 
There  were  literally  no  supplies,  and  the  Board  of 
War  failed  completely  to  remedy  the  evil.  The 
army  was  in  such  straits  that  it  was  obliged  to  seize 
by  force  the  commonest  necessaries.  This  was  a 
desperate  expedient  and  shocked  public  opinion, 
which  Washington,  as  a  statesman,  watched  and 
cultivated  as  an  essential  element  of  success  in 
his  difficult  business.  He  disliked  to  take  extreme 
measures,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done 
when  his  men  were  starving,  when  nearly  three 
thousand  of  them  were  unfit  for  duty  because 
"  barefoot  and  otherwise  naked,"  and  when  a  large 
part  of  the  army  were  obliged  to  sit  up  all  night 
by  the  fires  for -warmth's  sake,  having  no  blankets 
with  which  to  cover  themselves  if  they  lay  down. 
With  nothing  to  eat,  nothing  to  burn,  nothing 
wherewith  to  clothe  themselves,  wasting  away  from 
exposure  and  disease,  we  can  only  wonder  at  the 
forbearance  which  stayed  the  hand  of  violent  seiz 
ure  so  long.  Yet,  as  Washington  had  foreseen, 
there  was  even  then  an  outcry  against  him.  Never 
theless,  his  action  ultimately  did  more  good  than 
harm  in  the  very  matter  of  public  opinion,  for  it 
opened  men's  eyes,  and  led  to  some  tardy  improve 
ments  and  some  increased  effort. 

Worse  even  than  this  criticism  was  the  remou- 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    223 

strance  of  the  legislature  of  Pennsylvania  against 
the  going  into  winter  -  quarters.  They  expected 
Washington  to  keep  the  open  field,  and  even  to  at 
tack  the  British,  with  his  starving,  ragged  army,  in 
all  the  severity  of  a  northern  winter.  They  had 
failed  him  at  every  point  and  in  every  promise,  in 
men,  clothing,  and  supplies.  They  were  not  con 
tent  that  he  covered  their  State  and  kept  the  Rev 
olution  alive  among  the  huts  of  Valley  Forge. 
They  wished  the  impossible.  They  asked  for  the 
moon,  and  then  cried  out  because  it  was  not  given 
to  them.  It  was  a  stupid,  unkind  thing  to  do,  and 
Washington  answered  their  complaints  in  a  letter 
to  the  president  of  Congress.  After  setting  forth 
the  shortcomings  of  the  Pennsylvanians  in  the  very 
plainest  of  plain  English,  he  said :  "  But  what 
makes  this  matter  still  more  extraordinary  in  my 
eye  is  that  these  very  gentlemen  should  think  a 
winter's  campaign,  and  the  covering  of  these  States 
from  the  invasion  of  an  enemy,  so  easy  and  prac 
ticable  a  business.  I  can  answer  those  gentlemen, 
that  it  is  a  much  easier  and  less  distressing  thing 
to  draw  remonstrances  in  a  comfortable  room,  by 
a  good  fireside,  than  to  occupy  a  cold,  bleak  hill, 
and  sleep  under  frost  and  snow,  without  clothes  or 
blankets.  However,  although  they  seem  to  have 
little  feeling  for  the  naked  and  distressed  soldiers, 
I  feel  superabundantly  for  them,  and  from  my  soul 
I  pity  those  miseries  which  it  is  neither  in  my  power 
to  relieve  or  prevent." 

This  was  not  a  safe  man  for  the  gentlemen  of 


224  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Pennsylvania  to  cross  too  far,  nor  could  they  swerve 
Lira,  with  all  his  sense  of  public  opinion,  one  jot 
from  what  he  meant  to  do.  In  the  stern  rebuke,  and 
in  the  deep  pathos  of  these  sentences,  we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  silent  and  self -controlled  man  break 
ing  out  for  a  moment  as  he  thinks  of  his  faithful 
and  suffering  men.  Whatever  happened,  he  would 
hold  them  together,  for  in  this  black  time  we  detect 
the  fear  which  haunted  him,  that  the  people  at  large 
might  give  way.  He  was  determined  on  indepen 
dence.  He  felt  a  keen  hatred  against  England  for 
her  whole  conduct  toward  America,  and  this  hatred 
was  sharpened  by  the  efforts  of  the  English  to 
injure  him  personally  by  forged  letters  and  other 
despicable  contrivances.  He  was  resolved  that 
England  should  never  prevail,  and  his  language  in 
regard  to  her  has  a  fierceness  of  tone  which  is  full 
of  meaning.  He  was  bent,  also,  on  success,  and  if 
under  the  long  strain  the  people  should  weaken  or 
waver,  he  was  determined  to  maintain  the  army  at 
all  hazards. 

So,  while  he  struggled  against  cold  and  hunger 
and  destitution,  while  he  contended  with  faction  at 
home  and  lukewarmness  in  the  administration  of 
the  war,  even  then,  in  the  midst  of  these  trials,  he 
was  devising  a  new  system  for  the  organization  and 
permanence  of  his  forces.  Congress  meddled  with 
the  matter  of  prisoners  and  with  the  promotion  of 
officers,  and  he  argued  with  and  checked  them,  and 
still  pressed  on  in  his  plans.  He  insisted  that 
officers  must  have  better  provision,  for  they  had 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.     225 

begun  to  resign.  *'  You  must  appeal  to  their  inter 
est  as  well  as  to  their  patriotism,"  he  wrote,  "  and 
you  must  give  them  half-pay  and  full  pay  in  proper 
measure."  "  You  must  follow  the  same  policy  with 
the  men,"  he  said  ;  "  you  must  have  done  with  short 
enlistments.  In  a  word,  gentlemen,  you  must  give 
me  an  army,  a  lasting,  enduring,  continental  army, 
for  therein  lies  independence."  1  It  all  comes  out 
now,  through  the  dust  of  details  and  annoyances, 
through  the  misery  and  suffering  of  that  wretched 
winter,  through  the  shrill  cries  of  ignorance  and 
hostility,  —  the  great,  clear,  strong  policy  which 
meant  to  substitute  an  army  for  militia,  and  thereby 
secure  victory  and  independence.  It  is  the  burden 
of  all  his  letters  to  the  governors  of  States,  and  to 
his  officers  everywhere.  "  I  will  hold  the  army  to 
gether,"  he  said,  "  but  you  on  all  sides  must  help 
me  build  it  up."  i 

Thus  with  much  strenuous  labor  and  many  fer 
vent  appeals  he  held  his  army  together  in  some 
way,  and  slowly  improved  it.  His  system  began  to 
be  put  in  force,  his  reiterated  lessons  were  coming 
home  to  Congress,  and  his  reforms  and  sugges 
tions  were  in  some  measure  adopted.  Under  the 
sound  and  trained  guidance  of  Baron  Steuben  a 
drill  and  discipline  were  introduced,  which  soon 
showed  marked  results.  Greene  succeeded  Mifflin 
as  quartermaster-general,  and  brought  order  out  of 
chaos.  The  Con  way  cabal  went  to  pieces,  and  as 

1  These  two  quotations  are  not  literal,  of  course,  but  give  the 
substance  of  many  letters.  ' 


226  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

spring  opened  Washington  began  to  see  light  once 
more.  To  have  held  on  through  that  winter  was  a 
great  feat,  but  to  have  built  up  and  improved  the 
army  at  such  a  time  was  much  more  wonderful. 
It  shows  a  greatness  of  character  and  a  force  of 
will  rarer  than  military  genius,  and  enables  us  to 
understand  better,  perhaps,  than  almost  any  of  his 
victories,  why  it  was  that  the  success  of  the  Kev- 
olution  lay  in  the  hands  of  one  man.  . 

After  Howe's  withdrawal  from  the  Jerseys  in  the 
previous  year,  a  contemporary  wrote  that  Washing 
ton  was  left  with  the  remnants  of  an  army  "  to 
scuffle  for  liberty."  The  winter  had  passed,  and  he 
was  prepared  to  scuffle  again.  On  May  llth  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  relieved  Sir  William  Howe  at  Phi 
ladelphia,  and  the  latter  took  his  departure  in  a 
blaze*  of  mock  glory  and  resplendent  millinery, 
known  as  the  Mischianza,  a  fit  close  to  a  career  of 
failure,  which  he  was  too  dull  to  appreciate.  The 
new  commander  was  more  active  than  his  predeces 
sor,  but  no  cleverer,  and  no  better  fitted  to  cope 
with  Washington.  It  was  another  characteristic 
choice  on  the  part  of  the  British  ministry,  who 
could  never  muster  enough  intellect  to  understand 
that  the  Americans  would  fight,  and  that  they  were 
led  by  a  really  great  soldier.  The  coming  of  Clin 
ton  did  not  alter  existing  conditions. 

Expecting  a  movement  by  the  enemy,  Washing 
ton  sent  Lafayette  forward  to  watch  Philadelphia. 
Clinton,  fresh  in  office,  determined  to  cut  him  off, 
and  by  a  rapid  movement  nearly  succeeded  in  so 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    227 

doing.  Timely  information,  presence  of  mind,  and 
quickness  alone  enabled  the  young  Frenchman  to 
escape,  narrowly  but  completely.  Meantime,  a 
cause  for  delay,  that  curse  of  the  British  through 
out  the  war,  supervened.  A  peace  commission, 
consisting  of  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  William  Eden, 
and  Governor  Johnstone,  arrived.  They  were  ex 
cellent  men,  but  they  came  too  late.  Their  propo 
sitions  three  years  before  would  have  been  well 
enough,  but  as  it  was  they  were  worse  than  nothing. 
Coolly  received,  they  held  a  fruitless  interview  with 
a  committee  of  Congress,  tried  to  bribe  and  in 
trigue,  found  that  their  own  army  had  been  already 
ordered  to  evacuate  Philadelphia  without  their 
knowledge,  and  finally  gave  up  their  task  in  angry 
despair,  and  returned  to  England  to  join  in  the 
chorus  of  fault-finding  which  was  beginning  to 
sound  very  loud  in  ministerial  ears. 

Meanwhile,  Washington  waited  and  watched, 
puzzled  by  the  delay,  and  hoping  only  to  harass 
Sir  Henry  with  militia  on  the  march  to  New  York. 
But  as  the  days  slipped  by,  the  Americans  grew 
stronger,  while  Sir  Henry  weakened  himself  by 
sending  five  thousand  men  to  the  West  Indies, 
and  three  thousand  to  Florida.  When  he  finally 
started,  he  had  with  him  less  than  ten  thousand 
men,  while  the  Americans  had  thirteen  thousand, 
nearly  all  continental  troops.  Under  these  circum 
stances,  Washington  determined  to  bring  on  a  bat 
tle.  He  was  thwarted  at  the  outset  by  his  officers, 
as  was  wont  to  be  the  case.  Lee  had  returned 


228  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

more  whimsical  than  ever,  and  at  the  moment  was 
strongly  adverse  to  an  attack,  and  was  full  of  wise 
saws  about  building  a  bridge  of  gold  for  the  flying 
enemy.  The  ascendancy  which,  as  an  English 
officer,  he  still  retained  enabled  him  to  get  a  cer 
tain  following,  and  the  councils  of  war  which  were 
held  compared  unfavorably,  as  Hamilton  put  it, 
with  the  deliberations  of  midwives.  Washington 
was  harassed  of  course  by  all  this,  but  he  did  not 
stay  his  purpose,  and  as  soon  as  he  knew  that 
Clinton  actually  had  marched,  he  broke  camp  at 
Valley  Forge  and  started  in  pursuit.  There  were 
more  councils  of  an  old-womanish  character,  but 
finally  Washington  took  the  matter  into  his  own 
hands,  and  ordered  forth  a  strong  detachment  to 
attack  the  British  rear-guard.  They  set  out  on 
the  25th,  and  as  Lee,  to  whom  the  command  be 
longed,  did  not  care  to  go,  Lafayette  was  put  in 
charge.  As  soon  as  Lafayette  had  departed,  how 
ever,  Lee  changed  his  mind,  and  insisted  that  all 
the  detachments  in  front,  amounting  to  six  thou 
sand  men,  formed  a  division  so  large  that  it  was 
unjust  not  to  give  him  the  command.  Washington, 
therefore,  sent  him  forward  next  day  with  two  ad 
ditional  brigades,  and  then  Lee  by  seniority  took 
.  command  on  the  27th  of  the  entire  advance. 

In  the  evening  of  that  day,  Washington  came 
up,  reconnoitred  the  enemy,  and  saw  that,  although 
their  position  was  a  strong  one,  another  day's  un 
molested  march  would  make  it  still  stronger.  He 
therefore  resolved  to  attack  the  next  morning,  and 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,  AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    229 

gave  Lee  then  and  there  explicit  orders  to  that 
effect.  In  the  early  dawn  he  despatched  similar 
orders,  but  Lee  apparently  did  nothing  except 
move  feebly  forward,  saying  to  Lafayette,  '*  You 
don't  know  the  British  soldiers  ;  we  cannot  stand 
against  them."  He  made  a  weak  attempt  to  cut 
off  a  covering  party,  marched  and  countermarched, 
ordered  and  countermanded,  until  Lafayette  and 
Wayne,  eager  to  fight,  knew  not  what  to  do,  and 
sent  hot  messages  to  Washington  to  come  to  them. 
Thus  hesitating  and  confused,  Lee  permitted 
Clinton  to  get  his  baggage  and  train  to  the  front, 
and  to  mass  all  his  best  troops  in  the  rear  under 
Cornwallis,  who  then  advanced  against  the  Ameri 
can  lines.  Now  there  were  no  orders  at  all,  and 
the  troops  did  not  know  what  to  do,  or  where  to 
go.  They  stood  still,  then  began  to  fall  back, 
and  then  to  retreat.  A  very  little  more  and  there 
would  have  been  a  rout.  As  it  was,  Washington 
alone  prevented  disaster.  His  early  reports  from 
the  front  from  Dickinson's  outlying  party,  and 
from  Lee  himself,  were  all  favorable.  Then  he 
heard  the  firing,  and  putting  the  main  army  in 
motion,  he  rode  rapidly  forward.  First  he  encoun 
tered  a  straggler,  who  talked  of  defeat.  He  could 
not  believe  it,  and  the  fellow  was  pushed  aside  and 
silenced.  Then  came  another  and  another,  all  with 
songs  of  death.  Finally,  officers  and  regiments  be 
gan  to  come.  No  one  knew  why  they  fled,  or  what 
had  happened.  As  the  ill  tidings  grew  thicker, 
Washington  spurred  sharper  and  rode  faster 


230  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

through  the  deep  sand,  and  under  the  blazing  mid 
summer  sun.  At  last  he  met  Lee  and  the  main 
body  all  in  full  retreat.  He  rode  straight  at  Lee, 
savage  with  anger,  not  pleasant  to  look  at,  one  may 
guess,  and  asked  fiercely  and  with  a  deep  oath,  tra 
dition  says,  what  it  all  meant.  Lee  was  no  coward, 
and  did  not  usually  lack  for  words.  He  was,  too, 
a  hardened  man  of  the  world,  and,  in  the  phrase 
of  that  day,  impudent  to  boot.  But  then  and  there 
he  stammered  and  hesitated.  The  fierce  question 
was  repeated.  Lee  gathered  himself  and  tried  to 
excuse  and  palliate  what  had  happened,  but  although 
the  brief  words  that  followed  are  variously  reported 
to  us  across  the  century,  we  know  that  Washington 
rebuked  him  in  such  a  way,  and  with  such  passion, 
that  all  was  over  between  them.  Lee  had  com 
mitted  the  one  unpardonable  sin  in  the  eyes  of 
his  commander.  He  had  failed  to  fight  when  the 
enemy  was  upon  him.  He  had  disobeyed  orders 
and  retreated.  It  was  the  end  of  him.  He  went 
to  the  rear,  thence  to  a  court-martial,  thence  to  dis 
missal  and  to  a  solitary  life.  He  was  an  intelli 
gent,  quick-witted,  unstable  man,  much  overrated 
because  he  was  an  English  officer  among  a  colonial 
people.  He  was  ever  treated  magnanimously  by 
Washington  after  the  day  of  battle  at  Monmouth, 
but  he  then  disappeared  from  the  latter's  life. 

When  Lee  bowed  before  the  storm  and  stepped 
aside,  Washington  was  left  to  deal  with  the  danger 
and  confusion  around  him.  Thus  did  he  tell  the 
story  afterwards  to  his  brother:  "A  retreat,  how- 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND   FOREIGN  LEVY.     231 

ever,  was  the  fact,  be  the  causes  what  they  may ; 
and  the  disorder  arising  from  it  would  have  proved 
fatal  to  the  army,  had  not  that  bountiful  Provi 
dence,  which  has  never  failed  us  in  the  hour  of  dis 
tress,  enabled  me  to  form  a  regiment  or  two  (of 
those  that  were  retreating)  in  the  face  of  the  enemy, 
and  under  their  fire ;  by  which  means  a  stand  was 
made  long  enough  (the  place  through  which  the 
enemy  were  pressing  being  narrow)  to  form  the 
troops,  that  were  advancing,  upon  an  advantageous 
piece  of  ground  in  the  rear."  We  cannot  add 
much  to  these  simple  and  modest  words,  for  they 
tell  the  whole  story.  Having  put  Lee  aside,  Wash 
ington  rallied  the  broken  troops,  brought  them 
into  position,  turned  them  back,  and  held  the  en 
emy  in  check.  It  was  not  an  easy  feat,  but  it  was 
done,  and  when  Lee's  division  again  fell  back  in 
good  order  the  main  army  was  in  position,  and  the 
action  became  general.  The  British  were  repulsed, 
and  then  Washington,  taking  the  offensive,  drove 
them  back  until  he  occupied  the  battlefield  of  the 
morning.  Night  came  upon  him  still  advancing. 
He  halted  his  army,  lay  down  under  a  tree,  his  sol 
diers  lying  on  their  arms  about  him,  and  planned  a 
fresh  attack,  to  be  made  at  daylight.  But  when  the 
dawn  came  it  was  seen  that  the  British  had  crept 
off,  and  were  far  on  their  road.  The  heat  pre 
vented  a  rapid  pursuit,  and  Clinton  got  into  New 
York.  Between  there  and  Philadelphia  he  had 
lost  two  thousand  men,  Washington  said,  and  mod 
ern  authorities  put  it  at  about  fifteen  hundred,  of 
whom  nearly  five  hundred  fell  at  Momnouth. 


232  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

It  is  worth  while  to  pause  a  moment  and  compare 
this  battle  with  the  rout  of  Long  Island,  the  sur 
prise  at  the  Brandywine,  and  the  fatal  unsteadiness 
at  Germantown.  Here,  too,  a  check  was  received 
at  the  outset,  owing  to  blundering  which  no  one 
could  have  foreseen.  The  troops,  confused  and 
without  orders,  began  to  retreat,  but  without  panic 
or  disorder.  The  moment  Washington  appeared 
they  rallied,  returned  to  the  field,  showed  perfect 
steadiness,  and  the  victory  was  won.  Monmouth 
has  never  been  one  of  the  famous  battles  of  the 
Kevolution,  and  yet  there  is  no  other  which  can 
compare  with  it  as  an  illustration  of  Washington's 
ability  as  a  soldier.  It  was  not  so  much  the  way 
in  which  it  was  fought,  although  that  was  fine 
enough,  but  its  importance  lies  in  the  evidence 
which  it  gives  of  the  way  in  which  Washington, 
after  a  series  of  defeats,  during  a  winter  of  terrible 
suffering  and  privation,  had  yet  developed  his 
ragged  volunteers  into  a  well-disciplined  and  effec 
tive  army.  The  battle  was  a  victory,  but  the  exist 
ence  and  the  quality  of  the  army  that  won  it  were 
a  far  greater  triumph. 

The  dreary  winter  at  Valley  Forge  had  indeed 
borne  fruit.  With  a  slight  numerical  superiority 
Washington  had  fought  the  British  in  the  open 
field,  and  fairly  defeated  them.  "  Clinton  gained 
no  advantage,"  said  the  great  Frederic,  "except 
to  reach  New  York  with  the  wreck  of  his  army ; 
America  is  probably  lost  for'  England."  Another 
year  had  passed,  and  England  had  lost  an  army, 


MALICE  DOMESTIC,   AND  FOREIGN  LEVY.    233 

and  still  held  what  she  had  before,  the  city  of  New 
York.  Washington  was  in  the  field  with  a  better 
army  than  ever,  and  an  army  flushed  with  a  victory 
which  had  been  achieved  after  difficulties  and  trials 
that  no  one  now  can  rightly  picture  or  describe. 
The  American  Kevolution  was  advancing,  held 
firm  by  the  master-hand  of  its  leader.  Into  it, 
during  these  days  of  struggle  and  of  battle,  a  new 
element  had  come,  and  the  next  step  is  to  see  how 
Washington  dealt  with  the  fresh  conditions  upon 
which  the  great  conflict  had  entered. 


CHAPTER  V1IL 

THE   ALLIES. 

ON  May  4th,  1778,  Congress  ratified  the  treaties 
of  commerce  and  alliance  with  France.  On  the 
6th,  Washington,  waiting  at  Valley  Forge  for  the 
British  to  start  from  Philadelphia,  caused  his  army, 
drawn  out  on  parade,  to  celebrate  the  great  event 
with  cheers  and  with  salvos  of  artillery  and  mus 
ketry.  The  alliance  deserved  cheers  and  celebra 
tion,  for  it  marked  a  long  step  onward  in  the  He  vo 
lution.  It  showed  that  America  had  demonstrated 
to  Europe  that  she  could  win  independence,  and  it 
had  been  proved  to  the  traditional  enemy  of  Eng 
land  that  the  time  had  come  when  it  would  be  pro 
fitable  to  help  the  revolted  colonies.  But  the  alli 
ance  brought  troubles  as  well  as  blessings  in  its 
train.  It  induced  a  relaxation  in  popular  energy, 
and  carried  with  it  new  and  difficult  problems  for 
the  commander-in-chief.  The  successful  manage 
ment  of  allies,  and  of  allied  forces,  had  been  one  of 
the  severest  tests  of  the  statesmanship  of  William 
III.,  and  had  constituted  one  of  the  principal  glo 
ries  of  Marlborough.  A  similar  problem  now  con 
fronted  the  American  general. 

Washington  was  free  from  the  diplomatic  and 


THE  ALLIES.  235 

political  portion  of  the  business,  but  the  military 
and  popular  part  fell  wholly  into  his  hands,  and 
demanded  the  exercise  of  talents  entirely  different 
from  those  of  either  a  general  or  an  administrator. 
It  has  been  not  infrequently  written  more  or  less 
plainly,  and  it  is  constantly  said,  that  Washington 
was  great  in  character,  but  that  in  brains  he  was 
not  far  above  the  commonplace.  It  is  even  hinted 
sometimes  that  the  father  of  his  country  was  a  dull 
man,  a  notion  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to  ex 
amine  more  fully  further  on.  At  this  point  let  the 
criticism  be  remembered  merely  in  connection  with 
the  fact  that  to  cooperate  with  allies  in  military  mat 
ters  demands  tact,  quick  perception,  firmness,  and 
patience.  In  a  word,  it  is  a  task  which  calls  for  the 
finest  and  most  highly  trained  intellectual  powers, 
and  of  which  the  difficulty  is  enhanced  a  thousand 
fold  when  the  allies  were,  on  the  one  side,  an  old, 
aristocratic,  punctilious  people,  and  on  the  other, 
colonists  utterly  devoid  of  tradition,  etiquette,  or 
fixed  habits,  and  very  much  accustomed  to  go  their 
own  way  and  speak  their  own  minds  with  care 
less  freedom.  With  this  problem  Washington  was 
obliged  suddenly  to  deal,  both  in  ill  success  and  good 
success,  as  well  as  in  many  attempts  which  came 
to  nothing.  Let  us  see  how  he  solved  it  at  the 
very  outset,  when  everything  went  most  perversely 
wrong. 

On  July  14th  he  heard  that  D'Estaing's  fleet 
was  off  the  coast,  and  at  once,  without  a  trace  of 
elation  or  excitement,  he  began  to  consider  the 


236  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

possibility  of  intercepting  the  British  fleet  expected 
to  arrive  shortly  from  Cork.  As  soon  as  D'Estaing 
was  within  reach  he  sent  two  of  his  aides  on  board 
the  flagship,  and  at  once  opened  a  correspondence 
with  his  ally.  These  letters  of  welcome,  and  those 
of  suggestion  which  followed,  are  models,  in  tbeir 
way,  of  what  such  letters  ought  always  to  be.  They 
were  perfectly  adapted  to  satisfy  the  etiquette  and 
the  love  of  good  manners  of  the  French,  and  yet 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  anything  like  servility,  or 
of  an  effusive  gratitude  which  outran  the  favors 
granted.  They  combined  stately  courtesy  with 
simple  dignity,  and  are  phrased  with  a  sober  grace 
which  shows  the  thoroughly  strong  man,  as  capable 
to  turn  a  sentence,  if  need  be,  as  to  rally  retreating 
soldiers  in  the  face  of  the  enemy. 

In  this  first  meeting  of  the  allies  nothing  hap 
pened  fortunately.  D'Estaing  had  had  a  long  pas 
sage,  and  was  too  late  to  cut  off  Lord  Howe  at  the 
Delaware.  Then  he  turned  to  New  York,  and  was 
too  late  there,  and  found  further  that  he  could  not 
get  his  ships  over  the  bar.  Hence  more  delays,  so 
that  he  was  late  again  in  getting  to  Newport,  where 
he  was.  to  unite  with  Sullivan  in  driving  the  Brit 
ish  from  Rhode  Island,  as  Washington  had  planned, 
in  case  of  failure  at  New  York,  while  the  French 
were  still  hovering  on  the  coast.  When  D'Estaing 
finally  reached  Newport,  there  was  still  another 
delay  of  ten  days,  and  then,  just  as  he  and  Sul 
livan  were  preparing  to  attack,  Lord  Howe,  with 
his  squadron  reinforced,  appeared  off  the  harbor. 


THE  ALLIES.  237 

Promising  to  return,  D'Estaing  sailed  out  to  give 
the  enemy  battle,  and  after  much  manoeuvring 
both  fleets  were  driven  off  by  a  severe  storm,  and 
D'Estaing  came  back  only  to  tell  Sullivan  that  he 
must  go  to  Boston  at  once  to  refit.  Then  came 
the  protest  addressed  to  the  Count  and  signed  by 
all  the  American  officers  ;  then  the  departure  of 
D'Estaing,  and  an  indiscreet  proclamation  to  the 
troops  by  Sullivan,  reflecting  on  the  conduct  of 
the  allies. 

When  D'Estaing  had  actually  gone,  and  the 
Americans  were  obliged  to  retreat,  there  was  much 
grumbling  in  all  directions,  and  it  looked  as  if 
the  first  result  of  the  alliance  was  to  be  a  very 
pretty  quarrel.  It  was  a  bad  and  awkward  bus 
iness.  Congress  had  the  good  sense  to  suppress 
the  protest  of  the  officers,  and  Washington,  disap 
pointed,  but  perhaps  not  wholly  surprised,  set  him 
self  to  work  to  put  matters  right.  It  was  no  easy 
task  to  soothe  the  French,  on  the  one  hand,  who 
were  naturally  aggrieved  at  the  utterances  of  the 
American  officers  and  at  the  popular  feeling,  and 
on  the  other  to  calm  his  own  people,  who  were,  not 
without  reason,  both  disappointed  and  provoked. 
To  Sullivan,  fuming  with  wrath,  he  wrote  :  "  Should 
the  expedition  fail  through  the  abandonment  of  the 
French  fleet,  the  officers  concerned  will  be  apt  to 
complain  loudly.  But  prudence  dictates  that  we 
should  put  the  best  face  upon  the  matter,  and  to 
the  world  attribute  the  removal  to  Boston  to  neces 
sity.  The  reasons  are  too  obvious  to  need  explain- 


238  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ing."  And  again,  a  few  days  later :  "  First  impres 
sions,  you  know,  are  generally  longest  remembered, 
and  will  serve  to  fix  in  a  great  degree  our  national 
character  among  the  French.  In  our  conduct  to 
wards  them  we  should  remember  that  they  are  a 
people  old  in  war,  very  strict  in  military  etiquette, 
and  apt  to  take  fire  when  others  scarcely  seem 
warmed.  Permit  me  to  recommend,  in  the  most 
particular  manner,  the  cultivation  of  harmony  and 
good  agreement,  and  your  endeavor  to  destroy  that 
ill-humor  which  may  have  got  into  officers."  To 
Lafayette  he  wrote  :  "  Everybody,  sir,  who  reasons, 
will  acknowledge  the  advantages  which  we  have 
derived  from  the  French  fleet,  and  the  zeal  of 
the  commander  of  it ;  but  in  a  free  and  republican 
government  you  cannot  restrain  the  voice  of  the 
multitude.  Every  man  will  speak  as  he  thinks, 
or,  more  properly,  without  thinking,  and  conse 
quently  will  judge  of  effects  without  attending  to 
the  causes.  The  censures  which  have  been  levelled 
at  the  French  fleet  would  more  than  probably  have 
fallen  in  a  much  higher  degree  upon  a  fleet  of  our 
own,  if  we  had  had  one  in  the  same  situation.  It 
is  the  nature  of  man  to  be  displeased  with  every 
thing  that  disappoints  a  favorite  hope  or  flattering 
project ;  and  it  is  the  folly  of  too  many  of  them 
to  condemn  without  investigating  circumstances." 
Finally  he  wrote  to  D'Estaing,  deploring  the  differ 
ence  which  had  arisen,  mentioning  his  own  efforts 
and  wishes  to  restore  harmony,  and  said  :  "  It  is  in 
the  trying  circumstances  to  which  your  Excellency 


THE  ALLIES.  239 

has  been  exposed  that  the  virtues  of  a  great  mind 
are  displayed  in  their  brightest  lustre,  and  that  a 
general's  character  is  better  known  than  in  the 
moment  of  victory.  It  was  yours  by  every  title  that 
can  give  it ;  and  the  adverse  elements  that  robbed 
you  of  your  prize  can  never  deprive  you  of  the 
glory  due  you.  Though  your  success  has  not  been 
equal  to  your  expectations,  yet  you  have  the  satis 
faction  of  reflecting  that  you  have  rendered  essen 
tial  services  to  the  common  cause."  This  is  not 
the  letter  of  a  dull  man.  Indeed,  there  is  a  nicety 
about  it  that  partakes  of  cleverness,  a  much  com 
moner  thing  than  greatness,  but  something  which 
all  great  men  by  110  means  possess.  Thus  by  tact 
and  comprehension  of  human  nature,  by  judicious 
suppression  and  judicious  letters,  Washington, 
through  the  prudent  exercise  of  all  his  commanding 
influence,  quieted  his  own  people  and  soothed  his 
allies.  In  this  way  a  serious  disaster  was  averted, 
and  an  abortive  expedition  was  all  that  was  left 
to  be  regretted,  instead  of  an  ugly  quarrel,  which 
might  readily  have  neutralized  the  vast  advantages 
flowing  from  the  French  alliance. 

Having  refitted,  D'Estaing  bore  away  for  the 
West  Indies,  and  so  closed  the  first  chapter  in  the 
history  of  the  alliance  with  France.  Nothing  more 
was  heard  of  the  allies  until  the  spring  was  well 
advanced,  wh?n  M.  Gerard,  the  minister,  wrote, 
intimating  that  D'Estaing  was  about  to  return,  and 
linking  what  we  would  do.  Washington  replied  at 
length,  professing  his  willingness  to  cooperate  in 


240  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

any  way,  and  offering,  if  the  French  would  send 
ships,  to  abandon  everything,  run  all  risks,  and 
make  an  attack  on  New  York.  Nothing  further 
came  of  it,  and  Washington  heard  that  the  fleet 
had  gone  to  the  Southern  States,  which  he  learned 
without  regret,  as  he  was  apprehensive  as  to  the 
condition  of  affairs  in  that  region.  Again,  in  the 
autumn,  it  was  reported  that  the  fleet  was  once 
more  upon  the  northern  coast.  Washington  at 
once  sent  officers  to  be  on  the  lookout  at  the  most 
likely  points,  and  he  wrote  elaborately  to  D'Es- 
taing,  setting  forth  with  wonderful  perspicuity  the 
incidents  of  the  past,  the  condition  of  the  present, 
and  the  probabilities  of  the  future.  He  was  willing 
to  do  anything,  or  plan  anything,  provided  his  allies 
would  join  with  him.  The  jealousy  so  habitual  in 
humanity,  which  is  afraid  that  some  one  else  may 
get  the  glory  of  a  common  success,  was  unknown 
to  Washington,  and  if  he  could  but  drive  the  British 
from  America,  and  establish  American  indepen 
dence,  he  was  perfectly  willing  that  the  glory  should 
take  care  of  itself.  But  all  his  wisdom  in  dealing 
with  the  allies  was,  for  the  moment,  vain.  While 
he  was  planning  for  a  great  stroke,  and  calling  out 
the  militia  of  New  England,  D'Estaing  was  making 
ready  to  relieve  Georgia,  and  a  few  days  after 
Washington  wrote  his  second  letter,  the  French 
and  Americans  assaulted  the  British  works  at 
Savannah,  and  were  repulsed  with  heavy  losses. 
Then  D'Estaing  sailed  away  again,  and  the  second 
effort  of  France  to  aid  England's  revolted  colonies 


THE  ALLIES.  241 

came  to  an  end.  Their  presence  had  had  a  good 
moral  effect,  and  the  dread  of  D'Estaing's  return 
had  caused  Clinton  to  withdraw  from  Newport  and 
concentrate  in  New  York.  This  was  all  that  was 
actually  accomplished,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  await  still  another  trial  and  a  more  con 
venient  season. 

With  all  his  courtesy  and  consideration,  with  all 
his  readiness  to  fall  in  with  the  wishes  and  schemes 
of  the  French,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  Wash 
ington  ever  went  an  inch  too  far  in  this  direction. 

O 

He  valued  the  French  alliance,  and  proposed  to  use 
it  to  great  purpose,  but  he  was  not  in  the  least  daz 
zled  or  blinded  by  it.  Even  in  the  earliest  glow 
of  excitement  and  hope  produced  by  D'Estaing's 
arrival,  Washington  took  occasion  to  draw  once 
more  the  distinction  between  a  valuable  alliance 
and  volunteer  adventurers,  and  to  remonstrate 
again  with  Congress  about  their  reckless  profusion 
in  dealing  with  foreign  officers.  To  Gouverneur 
Morris  he  wrote  on  July  24,  1778  :  "  The  lavish 
manner  in  which  rank  has  hitherto  been  bestowed 
on  these  gentlemen  will  certainly  be  productive  of 
one  or  the  other  of  these  two  evils :  either  to  make 
it  despicable  in  the  eyes  of  Europe,  or  become  the 
means  of  pouring  them  in  upon  us  like  a  torrent 
and  adding  to  our  present  burden.  But  it  is  nei 
ther  the  expense  nor  the  trouble  of  them  that  I 
most  dread.  There  is  an  evil  more  extensive  in 
its  nature,  and  fatal  in  its  consequences,  to  be  ap 
prehended,  and  that  is  the  driving  of  all  our  own 


242  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

officers  out  of  the  service,  and  throwing  not  only  our 
army,  but  our  military  councils,  entirely  into  the 
hands  of  foreigners.  .  .  .  Baron  Steuben,  I  now 
find,  is  also  wanting  to  quit  his  inspectorship  for  a 
command  in  the  line.  This  will  be  productive  of 
much  discontent  to  the  brigadiers.  In  a  word,  al 
though  I  think  the  baron  an  excellent  officer,  I  do 
most  devoutly  wish  that  we  had  not  a  single  for 
eigner  among  us  except  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette, 
who  acts  upon  very  different  principles  from  those 
which  govern  the  rest."  A  few  days  later  he  said, 
on  the  same  theme,  to  the  president  of  Congress : 
"  I  trust  you  think  me  so  much  a  citizen  of  the 
world  as  to  believe  I  am  not  easily  warped  or  led 
away  by  attachments  merely  local  and  American ; 
yet  I  confess  I  am  not  entirely  without  them,  nor 
does  it  appear  to  me  that  they  are  unwarrantable, 
if  confined  within  proper  limits.  Fewer  promo 
tions  in  the  foreign  line  would  have  been  produc 
tive  of  more  harmony,  and  made  our  warfare  more 
agreeable  to  all  parties."  Again,  he  said  of  Steu 
ben  :  "  I  regret  that  there  should  be  a  necessity 
that  his  services  should  be  lost  to  the  army ;  at  the 
same  time  I  think  it  my  duty  explicitly  to  observe 
to  Congress  that  his  desire  of  having  an  actual  and 
permanent  command  in  the  line  cannot  be  complied 
with  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  a  number  of 
officers,  whose  rank  and  merits  give  them  every 
claim  to  attention  ;  and  that  the  doing  of  it  would 
be  productive  of  much  dissatisfaction  and  extensive 
ill  consequences." 


THE  ALLIES.  243 

Washington's  resistance  to  the  colonial  deference 
for  foreigners  has  already  been  pointed  out,  but 
this  second  burst  of  opposition,  coming  at  this  espe 
cial  time,  deserves  renewed  attention.  The  splendid 
fleet  and  well-equipped  troops  of  our  ally  were 
actually  at  our  gates,  and  everybody  was  in  a 
paroxysm  of  perfectly  natural  gratitude.  To  the 
colonial  mind,  steeped  in  colonial  habits  of  thought, 
the  foreigner  at  this  particular  juncture  appeared 
more  than  ever  to  be  a  splendid  and  superior  be 
ing.  But  he  did  not  in  the  least  confuse  or  sway 
the  cool  judgment  that  guided  the  destinies  of  the 
Revolution.  Let  us  consider  well  the  pregnant 
sentences  just  quoted,  and  the  letters  from  which 
they  are  taken.  They  deserve  it,  for  they  throw  a 
strong  light  on  a  side  of  Washington's  mind  and 
character  too  little  appreciated.  One  hears  it  said 
not  infrequently,  it  has  been  argued  even  in  print 
with  some  solemnity,  that  Washington  was,  no 
doubt,  a  great  man  and  rightly  a  national  hero,  but 
that  he  was  not  an  American.  It  will  be  necessary 
to  recur  to  this  charge  again  and  consider  it  at 
some  length.  It  is  sufficient  at  this  point  to  see 
how  it  tallies  with  his  conduct  in  a  single  matter, 
which  was  a  very  perfect  test  of  the  national  and 
American  quality  of  the  man.  We  can  get  at  the 
truth  by  contrasting  him  with  his  own  contempo 
raries,  the  only  fair  comparison,  for  he  was  a  man 
and  an  American  of  his  own  time  and  not  of  the 
present  day,  which  is  a  point  his  critics  overlook. 

Where  he  differed  from  the  men  of  his  own  time 


244  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

was  in  the  fact  that  he  rose  to  a  breadth  and  height 
of  Americanism  and  of  national  feeling  which  no 
other  man  of  that  day  touched  at  all.  Nothing 
is  more  intense  than  the  conservatism  of  mental 
habits,  and  although  it  requires  now  an  effort  to 
realize  it,  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  in  every 
habit  of  thought  the  inhabitants  of  the  thirteen 
colonies  were  wholly  colonial.  If  this  is  properly 
appreciated  we  can  understand  the  mental  breadth 
arid  vigor  which  enabled  Washington  to  shake  off 
at  once  all  past  habits  and  become  an  independent 
leader  of  an  independent  people.  He  felt  to  the 
very  core  of  his  being  the  need  of  national  self- 
respect  and  national  dignity.  To  him,  as  the  chief 
of  the  armies  and  the  head  of  the  Revolution,  all 
men,  no  matter  what  tongue  they  spake  or  what 
country  they  came  from,  were  to  be  dealt  with  on 
a  footing  of  simple  equality,  and  treated  according 
to  their  merits.  There  was  to  him  no  glamour  in 
the  fact  that  this  man  was  a  Frenchman  and  that 
an  Englishman.  His  own  personal  pride  extended 
to  his  people,  and  he  bowed  to  no  national  supe 
riority  anywhere.  Hamilton  was  national  through 
out,  but  he  was  born  outside  the  thirteen  colonies, 
and  knew  his  fellow-citizens  only  as  Americans. 
Franklin  was  national  by  the  force  of  his  own 
commanding  genius.  John  Adams  grew  to  the 
same  conception,  so  far  as  our  relations  to  other 
nations  were  concerned.  But  beyond  these  three 
we  may  look  far  and  closely  before  we  find  another 
among  all  the  really  great  men  of  the  time  who 


THE  ALLIES.  245 

freed  himself  wholly  from  the  superstition  of  the 
colonist  about  the  nations  of  Europe. 

When  Washington  drew  his  sword  beneath  the 
Cambridge  elm  he  stood  forth  as  the  first  Amer 
ican,  the  best  type  of  man  that  the  New  World 
could  produce,  with  no  provincial  taint  upon  him, 
and  no  shadow  of  the  colonial  past  clouding  his 
path.  It  was  this  great  quality  that  gave  the  strug 
gle  which  he  led  a  character  it  would  never  have 
attained  without  a  leader  so  constituted.  Had  he 
been  merely  a  colonial  Englishman,  had  he  not 
risen  at  once  to  the  conception  of  an  American 
nation,  the  world  would  have  looked  at  us  with 
very  different  eyes.  It  was  the  splendid  dignity 
of  the  man,  quite  as  much  as  his  fighting  capacity, 
which  impressed  Europe.  Kings  and  ministers, 
looking  on  dispassionately,  soon  realized  that  here 
was  a  really  considerable  man,  no  ordinary  agita 
tor  or  revolutionist,  but  a  great  man  on  a  great 
stage  with  great  conceptions.  England,  indeed, 
talked  about  a  militia  colonel,  but  this  chatter  dis 
appeared  in  the  smoke  of  Trenton,  and  even  Eng 
land  came  to  look  upon  him  as  the  all-powerful 
spirit  of  the  Revolution.  Dull  men  and  colonial 
squires  do  not  grasp  a  great  idea  and  carry  it  into 
action  on  the  world's  stage  in  a  few  months.  To 
stand  forward  at  the  head  of  raw  armies  and  of  a 
colonial  people  as  a  national  leader,  calm,  dignified, 
and  far-seeing,  requires  not  only  character,  but  in 
tellect  of  the  highest  and  strongest  kind.  Now 
that  we  have  come  as  a  people,  after  more  than  a 


246  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

century's  struggle,  to  the  national  feeling  which 
Washington  compassed  in  a  moment,  it  is  well  to 
consider  that  single  achievement  and  to  meditate 
on  its  meaning,  whether  in  estimating  him,  or  in 
gauging  what  he  was  to  the  American  people  when 
they  came  into  existence. 

Let  us  take  another  instance  of  the  same  quality, 
shown  also  in  the  winter  of  1778.  Congress  had 
from  the  beginning  a  longing  to  conquer  Canada, 
which  was  a  wholly  natural  and  entirely  lauda 
ble  desire,  for  conquest  is  always  more  interesting 
than  defence.  Washington,  on  the  other  hand, 
after  the  first  complete  failure,  which  was  so  nearly 
a  success  in  the  then  undefended  and  unsuspicious 
country,  gave  up  pretty  thoroughly  all  ideas  of 
attacking  Canada  again,  and  opposed  the  various 
plans  of  Congress  in  that  direction.  When  he  had 
a  life-and-death  struggle  to  get  together  and  subsist 
enough  men  to  protect  their  own  firesides,  he  had 
ample  reason  to  know  that  invasions  of  Canada 
were  hopeless.  Indeed,  not  much  active  opposi 
tion  from  the  commander-in-chief  was  needed  to 
dispose  of  the  Canadian  schemes,  for  facts  settled 
them  as  fast  as  they  arose.  When  the  cabal  got 
up  its  Canadian  expedition,  it  consisted  of  La 
fayette,  and  penetrated  no  farther  than  Albany. 
So  Washington  merely  kept  his  eye  watchfully  on 
Canada,  and  argued  against  expeditions  thither, 
until  this  winter  of  1778,  when  something  quite 
new  in  that  direction  came  up. 

Lafayette's  imagination  had  been  fired  by  the 


THE  ALLIES.  247 

notion  of  conquering  Canada.  His  idea  was  to 
get  succors  from  Prance  for  this  especial  purpose, 
and  with  them  and  American  aid  to  achieve  the 
conquest.  Congress  was  impressed  and  pleased  by 
the  scheme,  and  sent  a  report  upon  it  to  Frank 
lin,  to  communicate  to  the  French  court,  but  Wash 
ington,  when  he  heard  of  the  plan,  took  a  very 
different  view.  He  sent  at  once  a  long  despatch 
to  Congress,  urging  every  possible  objection  to 
the  proposed  campaign,  on  the  ground  of  its  ut 
ter  impracticability,  and  with  this  official  letter, 
which  was  necessarily  confined  to  the  military  side 
of  the  question,  went  another  addressed  to  Presi 
dent  Laurens  personally,  which  contained  the 
deeper  reasons  of  his  opposition.  He  said  that 
there  was  an  objection  not  touched  upon  in  his 
public  letter,  which  was  absolutely  insurmountable. 
This  was  the  introduction  of  French  troops  into 
Canada  to  take  possession  of  the  capital,  in  the 
midst  of  a  people  of  their  own  race  and  religion, 
and  but  recently  severed  from  them. 

He  pointed  out  the  enormous  advantages  which 
would  accrue  to  France  from  the  possession  of 
Canada,  such  as  independent  posts,  control  of  the 
Indians,  and  the  Newfoundland  trade.  "France, 
.  .  .  possessed  of  New  Orleans  on  our  right, 
Canada  on  our  left,  and  seconded  by  the  numer 
ous  tribes  of  Indians  in  our  rear,  .  .  .  would,  it 
is  much  to  be  apprehended,  have  it  in  her  power 
to  give  law  to  these  States."  He  went  on  to 
show  that  France  might  easily  find  an  excuse  for 


248  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

such  conduct,  in  seeking  a  surety  for  her  advances 
of  money,  and  that  she  had  but  little  to  fear 
from  the  contingency  of  our  being  driven  to  re 
unite  with  England.  He  continued  :  "  Men  are 
very  apt  to  run  into  extremes.  Hatred  to  Eng 
land  may  carry  some  into  an  excess  of  confi 
dence  in  France,  especially  when  motives  of  grati 
tude  are  thrown  into  the  scale.  Men  of  this  de 
scription  would  be  unwilling  to  suppose  France 
capable  of  acting  so  ungenerous  a  part.  I  am 
heartily  disposed  to  entertain  the  most  favorable 
sentiments  of  our  new  ally,  and  to  cherish  them  in 
others  to  a  reasonable  degree.  But  it  is  a  maxim, 
founded  on  the  universal  experience  of  mankind, 
that  no  nation  is  to  be  trusted  farther  than  it  is 
bound  by  its  own  interest ;  and  no  prudent  states 
man  or  politician  will  venture  to  depart  from  it. 
In  our  circumstances  we  ought  to  be  particularly 
cautious  ;  for  we  have  not  yet  attained  sufficient 
vigor  and  maturity  to  recover  from  the  shock  of 
any  false  steps  into  which  we  may  unwarily  fall." 
We  shall  have  occasion  to  recall  these  utterances 
at  a  later  day,  but  at  this  time  they  serve  to  show 
yet  again  how  broadly  and  clearly  Washington 
judged  nations  and  policies.  Uppermost  in  his 
mind  was  the  destiny  of  his  own  nation,  just  com 
ing  into  being,  and  from  that  firm  point  he  watched 
and  reasoned.  His  words  had  no  effect  on  Con 
gress,  but  as  it  turned  out,  the  plan  failed  through 
adverse  influences  in  the  quarter  where  Washing 
ton  least  expected  them.  He  believed  that  this 


THE  ALLIES.  249 

Canadian  plan  had  been  put  into  Lafayette's  mind 
by  the  cabinet  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  he  could  not  im 
agine  that  a  policy  of  such  obvious  wisdom  could 
be  overlooked  by  French  statesmen.  In  this  he 
was  completely  mistaken,  for  France  failed  to  see 
what  seemed  so  simple  to  the  American  general, 
that  the  opportunity  had  come  to  revive  her  old 
American  policy  and  reestablish  her  colonies  under 
the  most  favorable  conditions.  The  ministers  of 
Louis  XVI.,  moreover,  did  not  wish  the  colonies 
to  conquer  Canada,  and  the  plan  of  Lafayette 
and  the  Congress  received  no  aid  in  Paris  and 
came  to  nothing.  But  the  fruitless  incident  exhib 
its  in  the  strongest  light  the  attitude  of  Washing 
ton  as  a  purely  American  statesman,  and  the  com 
prehensiveness  of  his  mind  in  dealing  with  large 
affairs. 

The  French  alliance  and  the  coming  of  the 
French  fleet  were  of  incalculable  advantage  to  the 
colonies,  but  they  had  one  evil  effect,  as  has  already 
been  suggested.  To  a  people  weary  with  unequal 
conflict,  it  was  a  debilitating  influence,  and  America 
needed  at  that  moment  more  than  ever  energy  and 
vigor,  both  in  the  council  and  the  field.  Yet  the 
general  outlook  was  distinctly  better  and  more  en 
couraging.  Soon  after  Washington  had  defeated 
Clinton  at  Mon mouth,  and  had  taken  a  position 
whence  he  could  watch  and  check  him,  he  wrote  to 
his  friend  General  Nelson  in  Virginia  :  — 

"  It  is  not  a  little  pleasing,  nor  less  wonderful  to 
contemplate,  that,  after  two  years'  manoeuvring  and 


250  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

undergoing  the  strangest  vicissitudes  that  perhaps 
ever  attended  any  one  contest  since  the  creation, 
both  armies  are  brought  back  to  the  very  point 
they  set  out  from,  and  that  the  offending  party  at 
the  beginning  is  now  reduced  to  the  spade  and 
pickaxe  for  defence.  The  hand  of  Providence  has 
been  so  conspicuous  in  all  this  that  he  must  be 
worse  than  an  infidel  that  lacks  faith,  and  more 
than  wicked  that  has  not  gratitude  enough  to  ac 
knowledge  his  obligations.  But  it  will  be  time 
enough  for  me  to  turn  preacher  when  my  present 
appointment  ceases." 

He  had  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  the 
result  of  his  two  years'  campaigning,  but  as  the 
summer  wore  away  and  winter  came  on  he  found 
causes  for  fresh  and  deep  alarm,  despite  the  good 
outlook  in  the  field.  The  demoralizing  effects  of 
civil  war  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  in 
various  directions.  The  character  of  Congress,  in 
point  of  ability,  had  declined  alarmingly,  for  the 
able  men  of  the  first  Congress,  with  few  exceptions, 
had  departed.  Some  had  gone  to  the  army,  some 
to  the  diplomatic  service,  and  many  had  remained 
at  home,  preferring  the  honors  and  offices  of  the 
States  to  those  of  the  Confederation.  Their  suc 
cessors,  patriotic  and  well-meaning  though  they 
were,  lacked  the  energy  and  force  of  those  who 
had  started  the  Revolution,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
Congress  had  become  feeble  and  ineffective,  easily 
swayed  by  influential  schemers,  and  unable  to  cope 
with  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  them. 


THE  ALLIES.  251 

Outside  the  government  the  popular  tone  had 
deteriorated  sadly.  The  lavish  issues  of  irredeem 
able  paper  by  the  Confederation  and  the  States  had 
brought  their  finances  to  the  verge  of  absolute  ruin. 
The  continental  currency  had  fallen  to  something 
like  forty  to  one  in  gold,  and  the  decline  was  hast 
ened  by  the  forged  notes  put  out  by  the  enemy. 
The  fluctuations  of  this  paper  soon  bred  a  spirit 
of  gambling,  and  hence  came  a  class  of  men,  both 
inside  and  outside  of  politics,  who  sought,  more  or 
less  corruptly,  to  make  fortunes  by  army  contracts, 
and  by  forestalling  the  markets.  These  develop 
ments  filled  Washington  with  anxiety,  for  in  the 
financial  troubles  he  saw  ruin  to  the  army.  The 
unpaid  troops  bore  the  injustice  done  them  with 
wonderful  patience,  but  it  was  something  that  could 
not  last,  and  Washington  knew  the  danger.  In 
vain  did  he  remonstrate.  It  seemed  to  be  impos 
sible  to  get  anything  done,  and  at  last,  in  the 
following  spring,  the  outbreak  began.  Two  New 
Jersey  regiments  refused  to  march  until  the  as 
sembly  made  provision  for  their  pay.  Washington 
took  high  ground  with  them,  but  they  stood  re 
spectfully  firm,  and  finally  had  their  way.  Not 
long  after  came  another  outbreak  in  the  Connecti 
cut  line,  with  similar  results.  These  object  lessons 
had  some  result,  and  by  foreign  loans  and  the 
ability  of  Robert  Morris  the  country  was  enabled 
to  stumble  along ;  but  it  was  a  frightful  and  wear 
ing  anxiety  to  the  commander-in-chief. 

Washington  saw  at  once  that  the  root  of  the  evil 


252  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

lay  in  the  feebleness  of  Congress,  and  although  he 
could  not  deal  with  the  finances,  he  was  able  to 
strive  for  an  improvement  in  the  governing  body. 
Not  content  with  letters,  he  left  the  army  and  went 
to  Philadelphia,  in  the  winter  of  1779,  and  there 
appealed  to  Congress  in  person,  setting  forth  the 
perils  which  beset  them,  and  urging  action.  He 
wrote  also  to  his  friends  everywhere,  pointing  gut 
the  deficiencies  of  Congress,  and  begging  them  to 
send  better  and  stronger  men.  To  Benjamin  Har 
rison  he  wrote :  "  It  appears  to  me  as  clear  as  ever 
the  sun  did  in  its  meridian  brightness,  that  America 
never  stood  in  more  eminent  need  of  the  wise, 
patriotic,  and  spirited  exertions  of  her  sons  than 
at  this  period ;  .  .  .  the  States  separately  are  too 
much  engaged  in  their  local  concerns,  and  have  too 
many  of  their  ablest  men  withdrawn  from  the  gen 
eral  council,  for  the  good  of  the  common  weal." 
He  took  the  same  high  tone  in  all  his  letters,  and 
there  can  be  seen  through  it  all  the  desperate  en 
deavor  to  make  the  States  and  the  people  under 
stand  the  dangers  which  he  realized,  but  which  they 
either  could  not  or  would  not  appreciate. 

On  the  other  hand,  while  his  anxiety  was  sharp 
ened  to  the  highest  point  by  the  character  of  Con 
gress,  his  sternest  wrath  was  kindled  by  the  gam 
bling  and  money-making  which  had  become  rampant. 
To  Reed  he  wrote  in  December,  1778  :  "  It  gives 
me  sincere  pleasure  to  find  that  there  is  likely  to  be 
a  coalition  of  the  Whigs  in  your  State,  a  few  only 
excepted,  and  that  the  assembly  is  so  well  disposed 


THE  ALLIES.  253 

to  second  your  endeavors  in  bringing  those  murder 
ers  of  our  cause,  the  monopolizers,  forestallers,  and 
engrossers,  to  condign  punishment.  It  is  much  to 
be  lamented  that  each  State,  long  ere  this,  has  not 
hunted  them  down  as  pests  to  society  and  the 
greatest  enemies  we  have  to  the  happiness  of  Amer 
ica.  I  would  to  God  that  some  one  of  the  most 
atrocious  in  each  State  was  hung  in  gibbets  upon 
a  gallows  five  times  as  high  as  the  one  prepared 
by  Haman.  No  punishment,  in  my  opinion,  is  too 
great  for  the  man  who  can  build  his  greatness  upon 
his  country's  ruin."  He  would  have  hanged  them 
too  had  he  had  the  power,  for  he  was  always  as 
good  as  his  word. 

It  is  refreshing  to  read  these  righteously  angry 
words,  still  ringing  as  sharply  as  when  they  were 
written.  They  clear  away  all  the  myths  —  the 
priggish,  the  cold,  the  statuesque,  the  dull  myths 
—  as  the  strong  gusts  of  the  northwest  wind  in 
autumn  sweep  off  the  heavy  mists  of  lingering  Au 
gust.  They  are  the  hot  words  of  a  warm-blooded 
man,  a  good  hater,  who  loathed  meanness  and 
treachery,  and  who  would  have  hanged  those  who 
battened  upon  the  country's  distress.  When  he 
went  to  Philadelphia,  a  few  weeks  later,  and  saw 
the  state  of  things  with  nearer  view,  he  felt  the 
wretchedness  and  outrage  of  such  doings  more 
than  ever.  He  wrote  to  Harrison  :  "  If  I  were  to 
be  called  upon  to  draw  a  picture  of  the  times  and 
of  men,  from  what  I  have  seen,  heard,  and  in  part 
know,  I  should  in  one  word  say,  that  idleness,  dis- 


254  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

sipation,  and  extravagance  seem  to  have  laid  fast 
hold  of  most  of  them  ;  that  speculation,  peculation, 
and  an  insatiable  thirst  for  riches  seem  to  have 
got  the  better  of  every  other  consideration,  and  al 
most  of  every  order  of  men ;  that  party  disputes 
and  personal  quarrels  are  the  great  business  of  the 
day  ;  whilst  the  momentous  concerns  of  an  empire, 
a  great  and  accumulating  debt,  ruined  finances,  de 
preciated  money,  and  want  of  credit,  which,  in  its 
consequences,  is  the  want  of  everything,  are  but 
secondary  considerations,  and  postponed  from  day 
to  day,  from  week  to  week,  as  if  our  affairs  wore 
the  most  promising  aspect." 

Other  men  talked  about  empire,  but  he  alone 
grasped  the  great  conception,  and  felt  it  in  his 
soul.  To  see  not  only  immediate  success  imper 
illed,  but  the  future  paltered  with  by  small,  mean, 
and  dishonest  men,  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He  set 
himself  doggedly  to  fight  it,  as  he  always  fought 
every  enemy,  using  both  speech  and  pen  in  all  quar 
ters.  Much,  no  doubt,  he  ultimately  effected,  but 
he  was  contending  with  the  usual  results  of  civil 
war,  which  are  demoralizing  always,  and  especially 
so  among  a  young  people  in  a  new  country.  At 
first,  therefore,  all  seemed  vain.  The  selfishness, 
"  peculation,  and  speculation  "  seemed  to  get  worse, 
and  the  tone  of  Congress  and  the  people  lower,  as 
he  struggled  against  them.  In  March,  1779,  he 
wrote  to  James  Warren  of  Massachusetts :  "  Noth 
ing,  I  am  convinced,  but  the  depreciation  of  our 
currency,  aided  by  stock-jobbing  and  party  dissen- 


THE  ALLIES.  255 

sions,  has  fed  the  hopes  of  ihe  enemy,  and  kept  the 
British  arms  in  America  to  this  day.  They  do  not 
scruple  to  declare  this  themselves,  and  add  that  we 
shall  be  our  own  conquerors.  Can  not  our  com 
mon  country,  America,  possess  virtue  enough  to 
disappoint  them  ?  Is  the  paltry  consideration  of  a 
little  pelf  to  individuals  to  be  placed  in  competi 
tion  with  the  essential  rights  and  liberties  of  the 
present  generation,  and  of  millions  yet  unborn  ? 
Shall  a  few  designing  men,  for  their  own  aggran 
dizement,  and  to  gratify  their  own  avarice,  overset 
the  goodly  fabric  we  have  been  rearing,  at  the  ex 
pense  of  so  much  time.,  blood,  and  treasure  ?  And 
shall  we  at  last  become  the  victims  of  our  own  lust 
of  gain  ?  Forbid  it,  Heaven  !  Forbid  it,  all  and 
every  State  in  the  Union,  by  enacting  and  enforc 
ing  efficacious  laws  for  checking  the  growth  of 
these  monstrous  evils,  and  restoring  matters,  in 
some  degree,  to  the  state  they  were  in  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  war." 

"  Our  cause  is  noble.  It  is  the  cause  of  man 
kind,  and  the  danger  to  it  is  to  be  apprehended 
from  ourselves.  Shall  we  slumber  and  sleep,  then, 
while  we  should  be  punishing  those  miscreants 
who  have  brought  these  troubles  upon  us,  and  who 
are  aiming  to  continue  us  in  them  ;  while  we  should 
be  striving  to  fill  our  battalions,  and  devising  ways 
and  means  to  raise  the  value  of  the  currency,  on 
the  credit  of  which  everything  depends  ?  "  Again 
we  see  the  prevailing  idea  of  the  future,  which 
haunted  him  continually.  Evidently,  he  had  some 


256  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

imagination,  and  also  ,a  power  of  terse  and  elo 
quent  expression  which  we  have  heard  of  before, 
and  shall  note  again. 

Still  the  appeals  seemed  to  sound  in  deaf  ears. 
He  wrote  to  George  Mason  :  "  I  have  seen,  without 
despondency,  even  for  a  moment,  the  hours  which 
America  has  styled  her  gloomy  ones ;  but  I  have 
beheld  no  day  since  the  commencement  of  hostili 
ties  that  I  have  thought  her  liberties  in  such  im 
minent  danger  as  at  present.  .  .  .  Indeed,  we  are 
verging  so  fast  to  destruction  that  I  am  filled 
with  sensations  to  which  I  have  been  a  stranger 
till  within  these  three  months."  To  Gouverneur 
Morris  he  said :  "  If  the  enemy  have  it  in  their 
power  to  press  us  hard  this  campaign,  I  know  not 
what  may  be  the  consequence."  He  had  faced  the 
enemy,  the  bleak  winters,  raw  soldiers,  and  all  the 
difficulties  of  impecunious  government,  with  a 
cheerful  courage  that  never  failed.  But  the  spec 
tacle  of  widespread  popular  demoralization,  of  self 
ish  scrambles  for  plunder,  and  of  feeble  adminis 
tration  at  the  centre  of  government  weighed  upon 
him  heavily.  It  was  not  the  general's  business  to 
build  up  Congress  and  grapple  with  finance,  but 
Washington  addressed  himself  to  the  new  task  with 
his  usual  persistent  courage.  It  was  slow  and 
painful  work.  He  seemed  to  make  no  progress, 
and  then  it  was  that  his  spirits  sank  at  the  prospect 
of  ruin  and  defeat,  not  coming  on  the  field  of  battle, 
but  from  our  own  vices  and  our  own  lack  of  energy 
and  wisdom.  Yet  his  work  told  in  the  end,  as  it 


THE  ALLIES.  257 

always  did.  His  vast  and  steadily  growing  influ 
ence  made  itself  felt  even  through  the  dense  trou 
bles  of  the  uneasy  times.  Congress  turned  with 
energy  to  Europe  for  fresh  loans.  Lafayette  worked 
away  to  get  an  army  sent  over.  The  two  Morrises, 
stimulated  by  Washington,  flung  themselves  into 
the  financial  difficulties,  and  feeble  but  distinct  ef 
forts  toward  a  more  concentrated  and  better  organ 
ized  administration  of  public  affairs  were  made 
both  in  the  States  and  the  confederation. 

But,  although  Washington's  spirits  fell,  and  his 
anxieties  became  wellnigh  intolerable  in  this  period 
of  reaction  which  followed  the  French  alliance, 
he  made  no  public  show  of  it,  bnt  carried  on  his 
own  work  with  the  army  and  in  the  field  as  usual, 
contending  with  all  the  difficulties,  new  and  old, 
as  calmly  and  efficiently  as  ever.  After  Clinton 
slipped  away  from  Monmouth  and  sought  refuge 
in  New  York,  Washington  took  post  at  convenient 
points  and  watched  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 
In  this  way  the  summer  passed.  As  always,  Wash 
ington's  first  object  was  to  guard  the  Hudson,  and 
while  he  held  this  vital  point  firmly,  he  waited, 
ready  to  strike  elsewhere  if  necessary.  It  looked 
for  a  time  as  if  the  British  intended  to  descend  on 
Boston,  seize  the  town,  and  destroy  the  French  fleet, 
which  had  gone  there  to  refit.  Such  was  the  opin 
ion  of  Gates,  then  commanding  in  that  department, 
and  as  Washington  inclined  to  the  same  belief,  the 
fear  of  this  event  gave  him  many  anxious  moments. 
He  even  moved  his  troops  so  as  to  be  in  readiness 


258  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

to  march  eastward  at  short  notice ;  but  he  gradu 
ally  became  convinced  that  the  enemy  had  no  such 
plan.  Much  of  his  thought,  now  and  always,  was 
given  to  efforts  to  divine  the  intentions  of  the  Brit 
ish  generals.  They  had  so  few  settled  ideas,  and 
were  so  tardy  and  lingering  when  they  had  plans, 
that  it  is  small  wonder  that  their  opponents  were 
sorely  puzzled  in  trying  to  find  out  what  their  pur 
poses  were,  when  they  really  had  none.  The  fact 
was  that  Washington  saw  their  military  opportu 
nities  with  the  eye  of  a  great  soldier,  and  so  much 
better  than  they,  that  he  suffered  a  good  deal  of 
needless  anxiety  in  devising  methods  to  meet  at 
tacks  which  they  had  not  the  wit  to  undertake. 
He  had  a  profound  contempt  for  their  policy  of 
holding  towns,  and  believing  that  they  must  see  the 
utter  futility  of  it,  after  several  years  of  trial,  he 
constantly  expected  from  them  a  well-planned  and 
extensive  campaign,  which  in  reality  they  were  in 
capable  of  devising. 

The  main  army,  therefore,  remained  quiet,  and 
when  the  autumn  had  passed  went  into  winter- 
quarters  in  well-posted  detachments  about  New 
York.  In  December  Clinton  made  an  ineffectual 
raid,  and  then  all  was  peaceful  again,  and  Wash 
ington  was  able  to  go  to  Philadelphia  and  struggle 
with  Congress,  leaving  his  army  more  comfortable 
and  secure  than  they  had  been  in  any  previous 
winter. 

In  January  he  informed  Congress  as  to  the  next 
campaign.  He  showed  them  the  impossibility  of 


THE  ALLIES.  259 

undertaking  anything  on  a  large  scale,  and  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  remaining  on  the  defen 
sive.  It  was  a  trying  policy  to  a  man  of  his  tem 
per,  but  he  could  do  no  better,  and  he  knew,  now 
as  always,  what  others  could  not  yet  see,  that  by 
simply  holding  on  and  keeping  his  army  in  the 
field  he  was  slowly  but  surely  winning  independ 
ence.  He  tried  to  get  Congress  to  do  something 
with  the  navy,  and  he  planned  an  expedition,  un 
der  the  command  of  Sullivan,  to  overrun  the  Indian 
country  and  check  the  barbarous  raids  of  the  Tories 
and  savages  on  the  frontier ;  and  with  this  he  was 
fain  to  be  content.  In  fact,  he  perceived  very 
clearly  the  direction  in  which  the  war  was  tending. 
He  kept  up  his  struggle  with  Congress  for  a  per 
manent  army,  and  with  the  old  persistency  pleaded 
that  something  should  be  done  for  the  officers,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  tried  to  keep  the  States  in 
good  humor  when  they  were  grumbling  about  the 
amount  of  protection  afforded  them. 

But  all  this  wear  and  tear  of  heart  and  brain 
and  temper,  while  given  chiefly  to  hold  the  army 
together,  was  not  endured  with  any  notion  that  he 
and  Clinton  were  eventually  to  fight  it  out  in  the 
neighborhood  of  New  York.  Washington  felt  that 
that  part  of  the  conflict  was  over.  He  now  hoped 
and  believed  that  the  moment  would  come,  when, 
by  uniting  his  army  with  the  French,  he  should  be 
able  to  strike  the  decisive  blow.  Until  that  time 
came,  however,  he  knew  that  he  could  do  nothing 
on  a  great  scale,  and  he  felt  that  meantime  the 


260  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

British,  abandoning  practically  the  eastern  and 
middle  States,  would  make  one  last  desperate  strug 
gle  for  victory,  and  would  make  it  in  the  south. 
Long  before  any  one  else,  he  appreciated  this  fact, 
and  saw  a  peril  looming  large  in  that  region,  where 
everybody  was  considering  the  British  invasion  as 
little  more  than  an  exaggerated  raid.  He  foresaw, 
too,  that  we  should  suffer  more  there  than  we  had 
in  the  extreme  north,  because  the  south  was  full 
of  Tories  and  less  well  organized. 

All  this,  however,  did  not  change  his  own  plans 
one  jot.  He  believed  that  the  south  must  work  out 
its  own  salvation,  as  New  York  and  New  England 
had  done  with  Burgoyne,  and  he  felt  sure  that  in 
the  end  it  would  be  successful.  But  he  would  not 
go  south,  nor  take  his  army  there.  The  instinct  of 
a  great  commander  for  the  vital  point  in  a  war  or 
a  battle,  is  as  keen  as  that  of  the  tiger  is  said  to 
be  for  the  jugular  vein  of  its  victim.  The  British 
might  overrun  the  north  or  invade  the  south,  but 
he  would  stay  where  he  was,  with  his  grip  upon 
New  York  and  the  Hndspn  River.  The  tide  of  in 
vasion  might  ebb  and  flow  in  this  region  or  that, 
but  the  British  were  doomed  if  they  could  not  di 
vide  the  eastern  colonies  from  the  others.  When 
the  appointed  hour  came,  he  was  ready  to  abandon 
everything  and  strike  the  final  and  fatal  blow  ;  but 
until  then  he  waited  and  stood  fast  with  his  army, 
holding  the  great  river  in  his  grasp.  He  felt  much 
more  anxiety  about  the  south  than  he  had  felt 
about  the  north,  and  expected  Congress  to  consult 


THE  ALLIES.  261 

him  as  to  a  commander,  having  made  up  his  mind 
that  Greene  was  the  man  to  send.  But  Congress 
still  believed  in  Gates,  who  had  been  making  trou 
ble  for  Washington  all  winter  ;  and  so  Gates  was 
sent,  and  Congress  in  due  time  got  their  lesson, 
and  found  once  more  that  Washington  understood 
men  better  than  they  did. 

In  the  north  the  winter  was  comparatively  un 
eventful.  The  spring  passed,  and  in  June  Clinton 
came  out  and  took  possession  of  Stony  Point  and 
Verplanck's  Point,  and  began  to  fortify  them.  It 
looked  a  little  as  if  Clinton  might  intend  to  get 
control  of  the  Hudson  by  slow  approaches,  fortify 
ing,  and  then  advancing  until  he  reached  West 
Point.  With  this  in  mind,  Washington  at  once 
determined  to  check  the  British  by  striking  sharply 
at  one  of  their  new  posts.  Having  made  up  his 
mind,  he  sent  for  Wayne  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
storm  Stony  Point.  Tradition  says  that  Wayne 
replied,  "  I  will  storm  hell,  if  you  will  plan  it."  A 
true  tradition,  probably,  in  keeping  with  Wayne's 
character,  and  pleasant  to,  us  to-day  as  showing 
with  a  vivid  gleam  of  rough  human  speech  the 
utter  confidence  of  the  army  in  their  leader,  that 
confidence  which  only  a  great  soldier  can  inspire. 
So  Washington  planned,  and  Wayne  stormed,  and 
Stony  Point  fell.  It  was  a  gallant  and  brilliant  feat 
of  arms,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  war.  Over 
five  hundred  prisoners  were  taken,  the  guns  were 
carried  off,  and  the  works  destroyed,  leaving  the 
British  to  begin  afresh  with  a  good  deal  of  increased 


262  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

caution  and  respect.  Not  long  after,  Harry  Lee 
stormed  Paulus  Hook  with  equal  success,  and  the 
British  were  checked  and  arrested,  if  they  intended 
any  extensive  movement.  On  the  frontier,  Sulli 
van,  after  some  delays,  did  his  work  effectively, 
ravaging  the  Indian  towns  and  reducing  them  to 
quiet,  thus  taking  away  another  annoyance  and 
danger. 

In  these  various  ways  Clinton's  circle  of  activity 
was  steadily  narrowed,  but  it  may  be  doubte<l 
whether  he  had  any  coherent  plan.  The  principal 
occupation  of  the  British  was  to  send  out  maraud 
ing  expeditions  and  cut  off  outlying  parties.  Tryon 
burned  and  pillaged  in  Connecticut,  Matthews  in 
Virginia,  and  others  on  a  smaller  scale  elsewhere 
in  New  Jersey  and  New  York.  The  blundering 
stupidity  of  this  system  of  warfare  was  only 
equalled  by  its  utter  brutality.  Houses  were 
burned,  peaceful  villages  went  up  in  smoke,  women 
and  children  were  outraged,  and  soldiers  were  bay 
oneted  after  they  had  surrendered.  These  details 
of  the  Revolution  are  wellnigh  forgotten  now,  but 
when  the  ear  is  wearied  with  talk  about  English 
generosity  and  love  of  fair  play,  it  is  well  to  turn 
back  and  study  the  exploits  of  Tryon,  and  it  is  not 
amiss  in  the  same  connection  to  recall  that  Eng 
lish  budgets  contained  a  special  appropriation  for 
scalping-knives,  a  delicate  attention  to  the  Tories 
and  Indians  who  were  burning  and  butchering  on 
the  frontier. 

Such  methods  of  warfare  Washington  despised 


THE  ALLIES.  263 

intellectually,  and  hated  morally.  He  saw  that 
every  raid  only  hardened  the  people  against  Eng 
land,  and  made  her  cause  more  hopeless.  The 
misery  caused  by  these  raids  angered  him,  but  he 
would  not  retaliate  in  kind,  and  Wayne  bayoneted 
no  English  soldiers  after  they  laid  down  their  arms 
at  Stony  Point.  It  was  enough  for  Washington 
to  hold  fast  to  the  great  objects  he  had  in  view, 
to  check  Clinton  and  circumscribe  his  movements. 
Steadfastly  he  did  this  through  the  summer  and 
winter  of  1779,  which  proved  one  of  the  worst 
that  he  had  yet  endured.  Supplies  did  not  come, 
the  army  dwindled,  and  the  miseries  of  Valley 
Forge  were  renewed.  Again  was  repeated  the  old 
and  pitiful  story  of  appeals  to  Congress  and  the 
States,  and  again  the  undaunted  spirit  and  strenu 
ous  exertions  of  Washington  saved  the  army  and 
the  Revolution  from  the  internal  ruin  which  was  his 
worst  enemy.  When  the  new  year  began,  he  saw 
that  he  was  again  condemned  to  a  defensive  cam 
paign,  but  this  made  little  difference  now,  for  what 
he  had  foreseen  in  the  spring  of  1779  became  cer 
tainty  in  the  autumn.  The  active  war  was  trans 
ferred  to  the  south,  where  the  chapter  of  disasters 
was  beginning,  and  Clinton  had  practically  given 
up  everything  except  New  York.  The  war  had 
taken  on  the  new  phase  expected  by  Washington. 
Weak  as  he  was,  he  began  to  detach  troops,  and 
prepared  to  deal  with  the  last  desperate  effort  of 
England  to  conquer  her  revolted  colonies  from  the 
south. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ARNOLD'S  TREASON,  AND  THE  WAR  IN  THE 
SOUTH. 

THE  spring  of  1780  was  the  beginning  of  a 
period  of  inactivity  and  disappointment,  of  dili 
gent  effort  and  frustrated  plans.  During  the 
months  which  ensued  before  the  march  to  the 
south,  Washington  passed  through  a  stress  of 
harassing  anxiety,  which  was  far  worse  than  any 
thing  he  had  to  undergo  at  any  other  time.  Plans 
were  formed,  only  to  fail.  Opportunities  arose, 
only  to  pass  by  unfulfilled.  The  network  of  hos 
tile  conditions  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  and  it 
seemed  at  times  as  if  he  could  never  break  the 
bonds  that  held  him,  or  prevent  or  hold  back  the 
moral,  social,  and  political  dissolution  going  on 
about  him.  With  the  aid  of  France,  he  meant  to 
strike  one  decisive  blow,  and  end  the  struggle. 
Every  moment  was  of  importance,  and  yet  the 
days  and  weeks  and  months  slipped  by,  and  he 
could  get  nothing  done.  He  could  neither  gain 
control  of  the  sea,  nor  gather  sufficient  forces  of 
his  own,  although  delay  now  meant  ruin.  He 
saw  the  British  overrun  the  south,  and  he  could 
not  leave  the  Hudson.  He  was  obliged  to  sacri- 


THE    WAR  IN   THE  SOUTH.  265 

fice  the  southern  States,  and  yet  he  could  get 
neither  ships  nor  men  to  attack  New  York.  The 
army  was  starving  and  mutinous,  and  he  sought 
relief  in  vain.  The  finances  were  ruined,  Con 
gress  was  helpless,  the  States  seemed  stupefied. 
Treason  of  the  most  desperate  kind  suddenly 
reared  its  head,  and  threatened  the  very  citadel  of 
the  Revolution.  These  were  the  days  of  the  war 
least  familiar  to  posterity.  They  are  unmarked  in 
the  main  by  action  or  fighting,  and  on  this  dreary 
monotony  nothing  stands  out  except  the  black 
stain  of  Arnold's  treason.  Yet  it  was  the  time  of 
all  others  when  Washington  had  most  to  bear.  It 
was  the  time  of  all  others  when  his  dogged  persist 
ence  and  unwavering  courage  alone  seemed  to  sus 
tain  the  flickering  fortunes  of  the  war. 

In  April  Washington  was  pondering  ruefully 
on  the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  south.  He  saw 
that  the  only  hope  of  saving  Charleston  was  in 
the  defence  of  the  bar ;  and  when  that  became  in 
defensible,  he  saw  that  the  town  ought  to  be  aban 
doned  to  the  enemy,  and  the  army  withdrawn  to 
the  country.  His  military  genius  showed  itself 
again  and  again  in  his  perfectly  accurate  judg 
ment  on  distant  campaigns.  He  seemed  to  appre 
hend  all  the  conditions  at  a  glance,  and  although 
his  wisdom  made  him  refuse  to  issue  orders  when 
he  was  not  on  the  ground,  those  generals  who  fol 
lowed  his  suggestions,  even  when  a  thousand  miles 
away,  were  successful,  and  those  who  disregarded 
them  were  not.  Lincoln,  commanding  at  Charles- 


266  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ton,  was  a  brave  and  loyal  man,  but  he  had  neither 
the  foresight  nor  the  courage  to  withdraw  to  the 
country,  and  then,  hovering  on  the  lines  of  the 
enemy,  to  confine  them  to  the  town.  He  yielded 
to  the  entreaties  of  the  citizens  and  remained,  only 
to  surrender.  Washington  had  retreated  from 
New  York,  and  after  five  years  of  fighting  the 
British  still  held  it,  and  had  gone  no  further.  He 
had  refused  to  risk  an  assault  to  redeem  Philadel 
phia  at  the  expense  of  much  grumbling  and  curs 
ing,  and  had  then  beaten  the  enemy  when  they 
hastily  retreated  thence  in  the  following  spring. 
His  cardinal  doctrine  was  that  the  Revolution  de 
pended  upon  the  existence  of  the  army,  and  not  on 
the  possession  of  any  particular  spot  of  ground,  and 
his  masterly  adherence  to  this  theory  brought 
victory,  slowly  but  surely.  Lincoln's  very  natural 
inability  to  grasp  it,  and  to  withstand  popular  pres 
sure,  cost  us  for  a  time  the  southern  States  and  a 
great  deal  of  bloody  fighting. 

In  the  midst  of  this  anxiety  about  the  south,  and 
when  he  foresaw  the  coming  disasters,  Washington 
was  cheered  and  encouraged  by  the  arrival  of 
Lafayette,  whom  he  loved,  and  who  brought  good 
tidings  of  his  zealous  work  for  the  United  States 
in  Paris.  An  army  and  a  fleet  were  on  their  way 
to  America,  with  a  promise  of  more  to  follow.  This 
was  great  news  indeed.  It  is  interesting  to  note  how 
Washington  took  it,  for  we  see  here  with  unusual 
clearness  the  readiness  of  grasp  and  quickness  of 
thought  which  have  been  noted  before,  but  which 


THE    WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  267 

are  not  commonly  attributed  to  him.  It  has  been 
the  fashion  to  treat  Washington  as  wise  and  pru 
dent,  but  as  distinctly  slow,  and  when  he  was  obliged 
to  concentrate  public  opinion,  either  military  or 
civil,  or  when  doubt  overhung  his  course,  he  moved 
with  great  deliberation.  When  he  required  no 
concentration  of  opinion,  and  had  made  up  his 
mind,  he  could  strike  with  a  terribly  swift  deci 
sion,  as  at  Trenton  or  Mon  mouth.  So  when  a  new 
situation  presented  itself  he  seized  with  wonder 
ful  rapidity  every  phase  and  possibility  opened  by 
changed  conditions. 

The  moment  he  learned  from  Lafayette  that  the 
French  succors  were  actually  on  the  way,  he  began 
to  lay  out  plans  in  a  manner  which  showed  how  he 
had  taken  in  at  the  first  glance  every  chance  and 
every  contingency.  He  wrote  that  the  decisive 
moment  was  at  hand,  and  that  the  French  succors 
would  be  fatal  if  not  used  successfully  now.  Con 
gress  must  improve  their  methods  of  administra 
tion,  and  for  this  purpose  must  appoint  a  small 
committee  to  cooperate  with  him.  This  step  he 
demanded,  and  it  was  taken  at  once.  Fresh  from 
his  interview  with  Lafayette,  he  sent  out  orders 
to  have  inquiries  made  as  to  Halifax  and  its  de 
fences.  Possibly  a  sudden  and  telling  blow  might 
be  struck  there,  and  nothing  should  be  overlooked. 
He  also  wrote  to  Lafayette  to  urge  upon  the  French 
commander  an  immediate  assault  on  New  York 
the  moment  he  landed.  Yet  despite  his  thought 
for  New  York,  he  even  then  began  to  see  the  oppor- 


268  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

tunities  which  were  destined  to  develop  into  York- 
town.  He  had  longed  to  go  to  the  south  before, 
and  had  held  back  only  because  he  felt  that  the 
main  army  and  New  York  were  still  the  key  of  the 
position,  and  could  not  be  safely  left.  Now,  while 
planning  the  capture  of  New  York,  he  asked  in  a 
letter  whether  the  enemy  was  not  more  exposed  at 
the  southward  and  therefore  a  better  subject  for  a 
combined  attack  there.  Clearness  and  precision  of 
plan  as  to  the  central  point,  joined  to  a  perfect 
readiness  to  change  suddenly  and  strike  hard  and 
decisively  in  a  totally  different  quarter,  are  sure 
marks  of  the  great  commander.  We  can  find  them 
all  through  the  correspondence,  but  here  in  May, 
1780,  they  come  out  with  peculiar  vividness.  They 
are  qualities  arising  from  a  wide  foresight,  and 
from  a  sure  and  quick  perception.  They  are  not 
the  qualities  of  a  slow  or  heavy  mind. 

On  June  1st  came  the  news  of  the  surrender 
of  Charleston  and  the  loss  of  the  army,  which  was 
followed  by  the  return  of  Clinton  to  New  York. 
The  southern  States  lay  open  now  to  the  enemy, 
and  it  was  a  severe  trial  to  Washington  to  be 
unable  to  go  to  their  rescue ;  but  with  the  same 
dogged  adherence  to  his  ruling  idea,  he  concen 
trated  his  attention  on  the  Hudson  with  renewed 
vigilance  on  account  of  Clinton's  return.  Adver 
sity  and  prosperity  alike  were  unable  to  divert  him 
from  the  control  of  the  great  river  and  the  mas 
tery  of  the  middle  States  until  he  saw  conclusive 
victory  elsewhere  fairly  within  his  grasp.  In  the 


THE   WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  269 

same  unswerving  way  he  pushed  on  the  prepara 
tions  for  what  he  felt  to  be  the  coming  of  the  deci 
sive  campaign  and  the  supreme  moment  of  the  war. 
To  all  the  governors  went  urgent  letters,  calling  on 
the  States  to  fill  their  lines  in  the  continental  army, 
and  to  have  their  militia  in  readiness. 

In  the  midst  of  these  anxieties  and  preparations, 
the  French  arrived  at  Newport,  bringing  a  well- 
equipped  army  of  some  five  thousand  men,  and  a 
small  fleet.  They  brought,  too,  something  quite  as 
important,  in  the  way  of  genuine  good-will  and  full 
intention  to  do  all  in  their  power  for  their  allies. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation,  born  of  unlucky 
memories,  the  people  of  Rhode  Island  gave  De 
Rochambeau  a  hearty  welcome,  and  Washington 
sent  him  the  most  cordial  greeting.  With  the 
greeting  went  the  polite  but  earnest  request  for 
immediate  action,  together  with  plans  for  attack 
ing  New  York;  and,  at  the  same  time,  another 
urgent  call  went  out  to  the  States  for  men,  money, 
and  supplies.  The  long  looked-for  hour  had  ar 
rived,  a  fine  French  army  was  in  Newport,  a  French 
fleet  rode  in  the  harbor,  and  instead  of  action,  im 
mediate  and  effective,  the  great  event  marked  Only 
the  beginning  of  a  period  of  delays  and  disappoint 
ment,  wearing  heart  and  nerve  almost  beyond  en 
durance. 

First  it  appeared  that  the  French  ships  could 
not  get  into  New  York  harbor.  Then  there  was 
sickness  in  the  French  army.  Then  the  British 
menaced  Newport,  and  rapid  preparations  had  to  be 


270  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

made  to  meet  that  danger.  Then  it  came  out  that 
De  Rochambeau  was  ordered  to  await  the  arrival 
of  the  second  division  of  the  army,  with  more  ships  ; 
and  after  due  waiting,  it  was  discovered  that  the 
aforesaid  second  division,  with  their  ships,  were 
securely  blockaded  by  the  English  fleet  at  Brest. 
On  our  side  it  was  no  better ;  indeed,  it  was  rather 
worse.  There  was  lack  of  arms  and  powder.  The 
drafts  were  made  with  difficulty,  and  the  new  levies 
came  in  slowly.  Supplies  failed  altogether,  and  on 
every  hand  there  was  nothing  but  delay,  and  ever 
fresh  delay,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  Washington, 
wrestling  with  sloth  and  incoherence  and  ineffi 
ciency,  trampled  down  one  failure  and  disappoint 
ment  only  to  encounter  another,  equally  important, 
equally  petty,  and  equally  harassing. 

On  August  20th  he  wrote  to  Congress  a  long  and 
most  able  letter,  which  set  forth  forcibly  the  evil 
and  perilous  condition  of  affairs.  After  reading 
that  letter  no  man  could  say  that  there  was  not  need 
of  the  utmost  exertion,  and  for  the  expenditure  of 
the  last  ounce  of  energy.  In  it  Washington  struck 
especially  at  the  two  delusions  with  which  the  people 
and  their  representatives  were  lulling  themselves 
into  security,  and  by  which  they  were  led  to  relax 
their  efforts.  One  was  the  belief  that  England  was 
breaking  down ;  the  other,  that  the  arrival  of  the 
French  was  synonymous  with  the  victorious  close 
of  the  war.  Washington  demonstrated  that  Eng 
land  still  commanded  the  sea,  and  that  as  long  as 
she  did  so  there  was  a  great  advantage  on  her  side. 


THE    WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  271 

She  was  stronger,  on  the  whole,  this  year  than  the 
year  before,  and  her  financial  resources  were  still 
ample.  There  was  no  use  in  looking  for  victory  in 
the  weakness  of  the  enemy,  and  on  the  other  hand,  to 
rely  wholly  on  France  was  contemptible  as  well  as 
foolish.  After  stating  plainly  that  the  army  was 
on  the  verge  of  dissolution,  he  said  :  "  To  me  it  will 
appear  miraculous  if  our  affairs  can  maintain  them 
selves  much  longer  in  their  present  train.  If  either 
the  temper  or  the  resources  of  the  country  will  not 
admit  of  an  alteration,  we  may  expect  soon  to  be 
reduced  to  the  humiliating  condition  of  seeing  the 
cause  of  America,  in  America,  upheld  by  foreign 
arms.  The  generosity  of  our  allies  has  a  claim  to 
all  our  confidence  and  all  our  gratitude,  but  it  is 
neither  for  the  honor  of  America,  nor  for  the  inter 
est  of  the  common  cause,  to  leave  the  work  entirely 
to  them." 

It  must  have  been  bitter  to  Washington  above 
all  men,  with  his  high  dignity  and  keen  sense 
of  national  honor,  to  write  such  words  as  these, 
or  make  such  an  argument  to  any  of  his  coun 
trymen.  But  it  was  a  work  which  the  time  de 
manded,  and  he  did  it  without  flinching.  Hav 
ing  thus  laid  bare  the  weak  places,  he  proceeded 
to  rehearse  once  more,  with  a  weariness  we  can 
easily  fancy,  the  old,  old  lesson  as  to  organization, 
a  permanent  army,  and  a  better  system  of  adminis 
tration.  This  letter  neither  scolded,  nor  bewailed, 
nor  desponded,  but  it  told  the  truth  with  great 
force  and  vigor.  It,  of  course,  had  but  slight 


272  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

results,  comparatively  speaking,  still  it  did  some 
thing,  and  the  final  success  of  the  Revolution  is  due 
to  the  series  of  strong  truth-telling  letters,  of  which 
this  is  an  example,  as  much  as  to  any  one  thing 
clone  by  Washington.  There  was  need  of  some 
one,  not  only  to  fight  battles  and  lead  armies,  but 
to  drive  Congress  into  some  sort  of  harmony,  spur 
the  careless  and  indifferent  to  action,  arouse  the 
States,  and  kill  various  fatal  delusions,  and  in 
Washington  the  robust  teller  of  unwelcome  truths 
was  found. 

Still,  even  the  results  actually  obtained  by  such 
letters  came  but  slowly,  and  Washington  felt  that 
he  must  strike  at  all  hazards.  Through  Lafayette 
he  tried  to  get  De  Rochambeau  to  agree  to  an  im 
mediate  attack  on  New  York.  His  army  was  on  the 
very  eve  of  dissolution,  and  he  began  with  reason  to 
doubt  his  own  power  of  holding  it  together  longer. 
The  finances  of  the  country  were  going  ever  faster 
to  irremediable  ruin,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that 
anything  could  postpone  open  and  avowed  bank 
ruptcy.  So,  with  his  army  crumbling,  mutinous, 
and  half  starved,  he  turned  to  his  one  unfailing 
resource  of  fighting,  and  tried  to  persuade  De 
Rochambeau  to  join  him.  Under  the  circumstances, 
Washington  was  right  to  wish  to  risk  a  battle,  and 
De  Rochambeau,  from  his  point  of  view,  was 
equally  so  in  refusing  to  take  the  offensive,  unless 
the  second  division  arrived  or  De  Guichen  came 
with  his  fleet,  or  the  English  force  at  New  York 
was  reduced. 


THE    WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  273 

In  these  debates  and  delays,  mingled  with  an 
appeal  to  De  Guichen  in  the  West  Indies,  the 
summer  was  fast  wearing  away,  and,  by  way  of 
addition,  early  in  September  came  tidings  of  the 
battle  of  Camden,  and  the  utter  rout  of  Gates's 
army.  Despite  his  own  needs  and  trials,  Washing 
ton's  first  idea  was  to  stem  the  current  of  disaster 
at  the  south,  and  he  ordered  the  fresh  Maryland 
troops  to  turn  back  at  once  and  march  to  the  Caro- 
linas,  but  Gates  fled  so  fast  and  far  that  it  was  some 
time  before  anything  was  heard  of  him.  As  more 
news  came  of  Camden  and  its  beaten  general, 
Washington  wrote  to  Rutledge  that  he  should  ulti 
mately  come  southward.  Meantime,  he  could  only 
struggle  with  his  own  difficulties,  and  rack  his 
brains  for  men  and  means  to  rescue  the  south.  It 
must  have  seemed  to  Washington,  in  those  lovely 
September  days,  as  if  fate  could  not  have  any  worse 
trials  in  store,  and  that  if  he  could  only  breast  the 
troubles  now  surging  about  him,  he  might  count  on 
sure  and  speedy  success.  Yet  the  bitterest  trial  of 
all  was  even  then  hanging  over  his  head,  and  with 
a  sort  of  savage  sarcasm  it  came  upon  him  in  one  of 
those  rare  moments  when  he  had  an  hour  of  rest 
and  sunshine. 

The  story  of  Arnold's  treason  is  easily  told.  Its 
romantic  side  has  made  it  familiar  to  all  Ameri 
cans,  and  given  it  a  factitious  importance.  Had  it 
succeeded  it  would  have  opened  vast  opportunities 
of  disaster  to  America.  It  failed,  and  had  no 
result  whatever.  It  has  passed  into  history  simply 


274  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

as  a  picturesque  episode,  charged  with  possibilities 
which  fascinate  the  imagination,  but  having,  in  it 
self,  neither  meaning  nor  consequences  beyond  the 
two  conspirators.  To  us  it  is  of  interest,  because 
it  shows  Washington  in  one  of  the  sharpest  and 
bitterest  experiences  of  his  life.  Let  us  see  how 
he  met  it  and  dealt  with  it. 

From  the  day  when  the  French  landed,  both 
De  Rochambeau  and  Washington  had  been  most 
anxious  to  meet.  The  French  general  had  been 
particularly  urgent,  but  it  was  difficult  for  Wash 
ington  to  get  away.  As  he  wrote  on  August  21st : 
"  We  are  about  ten  miles  from  the  enemy.  Our 
popular  government  imposes  a  necessity  of  great 
circumspection.  If  any  misfortune  should  happen 
in  my  absence,  it  would  be  attended  with  every 
inconvenience.  I  will,  however,  endeavor  if  possi 
ble,  and  as  soon  as  possible,  to  meet  you  at  some 
convenient  rendezvous."  In  accordance  with  this 
promise,  a  few  weeks  later,  he  left  Greene  in  com 
mand  of  the  army,  and,  not  without  misgivings, 
started  on  September  18th  to  meet  De  Rocham- 
beau.  On  his  way  he  had  an  interview  with  Ar 
nold,  who  came  to  him  to  show  a  letter  from  the 
loyalist  Colonel  Robinson,  and  thus  disarm  suspi 
cion  as  to  his  doings.  On  the  20th,  the  day  when 
Andre  and  Arnold  met  to  arrange  the  terms  of 
the  sale,  Washington  was  with  De  Rochambeau  at 
Hartford.  News  had  arrived,  meantime,  that  De 
Guichen  had  sailed  for  Europe  ;  the  command  of 
the  sea  was  therefore  lost,  and  the  opportunity  for 


THE    WAR  IN   THE  SOUTH.  275 

action  had  gone  by.  There  was  no  need  for  fur 
ther  conference,  and  Washington  accordingly  set 
out  on  his  return  at  once,  two  or  three  days  earlier 
than  he  had  intended. 

He  was  accompanied  by  his  own  staff,  and  by 
Knox  and  Lafayette  with  their  officers.  With  him, 
too,  went  the  young  Count  Dumas,  who  has  left  a 
description  of  their  journey,  and  of  the  popular  en 
thusiasm  displayed  in  the  towns  through  which  they 
passed.  In  one  village,  which  they  reached  after 
nightfall,  all  the  people  turned  out,  the  children 
bearing  torches,  and  men  and  women  hailed  Wash 
ington  as  father,  and  pressed  about  him  to  touch 
the  hem  of  his  garments.  Turning  to  Dumas  he 
said,  "  We  may  be  beaten  by  the  English ;  it  is  the 
chance  of  war ;  but  there  is  the  army  they  will 
never  conquer."  Political  leaders  grumbled,  and 
military  officers  caballed,  but  the  popular  feeling 
went  out  to  Washington  with  a  sure  and  utter  con 
fidence.  The  people  in  that  little  village  recog 
nized  the  great  and  unselfish  leader  as  they  recog 
nized  Lincoln  a  century  later,  and  from  the  masses 
of  the  people  no  one  ever  heard  the  cry  that  Wash 
ington  was  cold  or  unsympathetic.  They  loved 
him,  and  believed  in  him,  and  such  a  manifestation 
of  their  devotion  touched  him  deeply.  His  spirits 
rose  under  the  spell  of  appreciation  and  affection, 
always  so  strong  upon  human  nature,  and  he  rode 
away  from  Fishkill  the  next  morning  at  daybreak 
with  a  li^ht  heart. 

O 

The  company  was  pleasant  and  lively,  the  morn- 


276  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ing  was  fair,  and  as  they  approached  Arnold's  head 
quarters  at  the  Robinson  house,  Washington  turned 
off  to  the  redoubts  by  the  river,  telling  the  young 
men  that  they  were  all  in  love  with  Mrs.  Arnold 
and  would  do  well  to  go  straight  on  and  breakfast 
with  her.  Hamilton  and  McHenry  followed  his 
advice,  and  while  they  were  at  breakfast  a  note 
was  brought  to  Arnold.  It  was  the  letter  of  warn 
ing  from  Andre  announcing  his  capture,  which 
Colonel  Jameson,  who  ought  to  have  been  cashiered 
for  doing  it,  had  forwarded.  Arnold  at  once  left 
the  table,  and  saying  that  he  was  going  to  West 
Point,  jumped  into  his  boat  and  was  rowed  rapidly 
down  the  river  to  the  British  man-of-war.  Wash 
ington  on  his  arrival  was  told  that  Arnold  had 
gone  to  the  fort,  and  so  after  a  hasty  breakfast  he 
went  over  there  himself.  On  reaching:  West  Point 

O 

no  salute  broke  the  stillness,  and  no  guard  turned 
out  to  receive  him.  He  was  astonished  to  learn 
that  his  arrival  was  unexpected,  and  that  Arnold 
had  not  been  there  for  two  days.  Still  unsuspect 
ing  he  inspected  the  works,  and  then  returned. 

Meantime,  the  messenger  sent  to  Hartford  with 
the  papers  taken  on  Andre  reached  the  Robinson 
house  and  delivered  them  to  Hamilton,  together 
with  a  letter  of  confession  from  Andre  himself. 
Hamilton  read  them,  and  hurrying  out  met  Wash 
ington  just  coming  up  from  the  river.  He  took  his 
chief  aside,  said  a  few  words  to  him  in  a  low  voice, 
and  they  went  into  the  house  together.  When 
they  came  out,  Washington  looked  as  calm  as  ever, 


THE    WAR  JN 

and  calling-  to  Lafayette  and  Knox  gave  them  the 
papers,  saying  simply,  "  Whom  can  we  trust  now?  " 
Pie  despatched  Hamilton  at  once  to  try  to  inter 
cept  Arnold  at  Verplanck's  Point,  but  it  was  too 
late  ;  the  boat  had  passed,  and  Arnold  was  safe  on 
board  the  Vulture.  This  done,  Washington  bade 
his  staff  sit  down  with  him  to  dinner,  as  the  general 
was  absent,  and  Mrs.  Arnold  was  ill  in  her  room. 
Dinner  over,  he  immediately  set  about  guarding  the 
post,  which  had  been  so  near  betrayal.  To  Colonel 
Wade  at  West  Point  he  wrote :  "  Arnold  has  gone 
to  the  enemy ;  you  are  in  command,  be  vigilant." 
To  Jameson  he  sent  word  to  guard  Andre  closely. 
To  the  colonels  and  commanders  of  various  outlying 
regiments  he  sent  orders  to  bring  up  their  troops. 
Everything  was  done  that  should  have  been  done, 
quickly,  quietly,  and  without  comment.  The  most 
sudden  and  appalling  treachery  had  failed  to  shake 
his  nerve,  or  confuse  his  mind. 

Yet  the  strong  and  silent  man  was  wrung  to  the 
quick,  and  when  everything  possible  had  been  done, 
and  he  had  retired  to  his  room,  the  guard  outside  the 
door  heard  him  marching  back  and  forth  through  all 
the  weary  night.  The  one  thing  he  least  expected, 
because  he  least  understood  it,  had  come  to  pass. 
He  had  been  a  good  and  true  friend  to  the  villain 
who  had  fled,  for  Arnold's  reckless  bravery  and 
dare-devil  fighting  had  appealed  to  the  strongest 
passion  of  his  nature,  and  he  had  stood  by  him 
always.  He  had  grieved  over  the  refusal  of  Con 
gress  to  promote  him  in  due  order  and  had  inter- 


278  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ceded  with  ultimate  success  in  his  behalf.  He  had 
sympathized  with  him  in  his  recent  troubles  in 
Philadelphia,  and  had  administered  the  reprimand 
awarded  by  the  court-martial  so  that  rebuke 
seemed  turned  to  praise.  He  had  sought  to  give 
him  every  opportunity  that  a  soldier  could  desire, 
and  had  finally  conferred  upon  him  the  command 
of  West  Point.  He  had  admired  his  courage  and 
palliated  his  misconduct,  and  now  the  scoundrel 
had  turned  on  him  and  fled.  Mingled  with  the  bit 
terness  of  these  memories  of  betrayed  confidence 
was  the  torturing  ignorance  of  how  far  this  base 
treachery  had  extended.  For  all  he  knew  there 
might  be  a  brood  of  traitors  about  him  in  the  very 
citadel  of  America.  We  can  never  know  Wash 
ington's  thoughts  at  that  time,  for  he  was  ever 
silent,  but  as  we  listen  in  imagination  to  the  sound 
of  the  even  footfalls  which  the  guard  heard  all 
through  that  September  night,  we  can  dimly  guess 
the  feelings  of  the  strong  and  passionate  nature, 
wounded  and  distressed  almost  beyond  endurance. 
l/  There  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  The  conspiracy 
stopped  with  Arnold.  He  had  no  accomplices, 
and  meant  to  deliver  the  fort  and  pocket  the  booty 
alone.  The  British  tried  to  spread  the  idea  that 
other  officers  had  been  corrupted,  but  the  attempt 
failed,  and  Washington's  prompt  measures  of  de 
fence  checked  any  movement  against  the  forts. 
Every  effort  was  made  by  Clinton  to  save  Andre, 
but  in  vain.  He  was  tried  by  a  court  composed 
of  the  highest  officers  in  the  American  service, 


THE    WAR  IN   THE  SOUTH.  279 

among  whom  was  Lafayette.  On  his  own  state'- 
ment,  but  one  decision  was  possible.  He  was  con 
demned  as  a  spy,  and  as  a  spy  he  was  sentenced 
to  be  hanged.  He  made  a  manly  appeal  against 
the  manner  of  his  death,  and  begged  to  be  shot. 
Washington  declined  to  interfere,  and  Andre*  went 
to  the  gallows. 

The  British,  at  the  time,  and  some  of  their  writers 
afterwards,  attacked  Washington  for  insisting  on 
this  mode  of  execution,  but  there  never  was  an  in 
stance  in  his  career  when  he  was  more  entirely 
right.  Andre  was  a  spy  and  briber,  who  sought  to 
ruin  the  American  cause  by  means  of  the  treachery 
of  an  American  general.  It  was  a  dark  and  dan 
gerous  game,  and  he  knew  that  he  staked  his  life 
on  the  result.  He  failed,  and  paid  the  penalty. 
Washington  could  not  permit,  he  would  have 
been  grossly  and  feebly  culpable  if  he  had  per 
mitted,  such  an  attempt  to  pass  without  extreme 
punishment.  He  was  generous  and  magnanimous, 
but  he  was  not  a  sentimentalist,  and  he  punished 
this  miserable  treason,  so  far  as  he  could  reach  it, 
as  it  deserved.  It  is  true  that  Andre*  was  a  man 
of  talent,  well-bred  and  courageous,  and  of  engag 
ing  manners.  He  deserved  all  the  sympathy  and 
sorrow  which  he  excited  at  the  time,  but  nothing 
more.  He  was  not  only  technically  a  spy,  but  he 
had  sought  his  ends  by  bribery,  he  had  prostituted 
a  flag  of  truce,  and  he  was  to  be  richly  paid  for 
his  work.  It  was  all  hire  and  salary.  No  doubt 
Andre*  was  patriotic  and  loyal.  Many  spies  have 


280  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

been  the  same,  and  have  engaged  in  their  danger 
ous  exploits  from  the  highest  motives.  Nathan 
Hale,  whom  the  British  hanged  without  compunc 
tion,  was  as  well-born  and  well-bred  as  Andre*,  and 
as  patriotic  as  man  could  be,  and  moreover  he  was 
a  spy  and  nothing  more.  Andr£  wras  a  trafficker  in 
bribes  and  treachery,  and  however  we  may  pity  his 
fate,  his  name  has  no  proper  place  in  the  great 
temple  at  Westminster,  where  all  English-speaking 
people  bow  with  reverence,  and  only  a  most  per 
verted  sentimentality  could  conceive  that  it  was 
fitting  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  memory  in  this 
country. 

Washington  sent  Andre  to  the  gallows  because 
it  was  his  duty  to  do  so,  but  he  pitied  him  none 
the  less,  and  whatever  he  may  have  thought  of  the 
means  Andre*  employed  to  effect  his  end,  he  made 
no  comment  upon  him,  except  to  say  that  "  he  met 
his  fate  with  that  fortitude  which  was  to  be  ex 
pected  from  an  accomplished  man  and  gallant  offi 
cer."  As  to  Arnold,  he  was  almost  equally  silent. 
When  obliged  to  refer  to  him  he  did  so  in  the  plain 
est  and  simplest  way,  and  only  in  a  familiar  letter 
to  Laurens  do  we  get  a  glimpse  of  his  feelings.  He 
wrote :  "I  am  mistaken  if  at  this  time  Arnold  is 
undergoing  the  torment  of  a  mental  hell.  He 
wants  feeling.  From  some  traits  of  his  character 
which  have  lately  come  to  my  knowledge,  he  seems 
to  have  been  so  hackneyed  in  villainy,  and  so  lost 
to  all  sense  of  honor  and  shame,  that,  while  his 
faculties  will  enable  him  to  continue  his  sordid 


THE    WAR  IN  THE   SOUTH.  281 

pursuits,  there  will  be  no  time  for  remorse."  With 
this  single  expression  of  measureless  contempt, 
Washington  let  Arnold  drop  from  his  life.  The 
first  shock  had  touched  him  to  the  quick,  although 
it  could  not  shake  his  steady  mind.  Reflection 
revealed  to  him  the  extraordinary  baseness  of  Ar 
nold's  real  character,  and  he  cast  the  thought  of 
him  out  forever,  content  to  leave  the  traitor  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  history.  The  calmness  and  dig 
nity,  the  firmness  and  deep  feeling  which  Wash 
ington  exhibited,  are  of  far  more  interest  than  the 
abortive  treason,  and  have  as  real  a  value  now  as 
they  had  then,  when  suspicion  for  a  moment  ran 
riot,  and  men  wondered  "  whom  they  could  trust." 
The  treason  of  Arnold  swept  like  a  black  cloud 
across  the  sky,  broke,  and  left  everything  as  before. 
That  such  a  base  peril  should  have  existed  was 
alarming  and  hateful.  That  it  should  have  been 
exploded  harmlessly  made  all  men  give  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief.  But  neither  the  treason  nor  its  dis 
covery  altered  the  current  of  events  one  jot.  The 
summer  had  come  and  gone.  The  French  had  ar 
rived,  and  no  blow  had  been  struck.  There  was 
nothing  to  show  for  the  campaign  but  inaction,  dis 
appointment,  and  the  loss  of  the  Carolinas.  With 
the  commander-in-chief,  through  it  all,  were  ever 
present  two  great  questions,  getting  more  porten 
tous  and  more  difficult  of  solution  with  each  suc 
ceeding  day.  How  he  was  to  keep  his  army  in  ex 
istence  was  one,  and  how  he  was  to  hold  the  gov 
ernment  together  was  the  other.  He  had  thirteen 


282  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

tired  States,  a  general  government  almost  impotent, 
a  bankrupt  treasury,  and  a  broken  credit.  The 
American  Kevolution  had  come  down  to  the  ques 
tion  of  whether  the  brain,  will,  and  nerve  of  one 
man  could  keep  the  machine  going  long  enough  to 
find  fit  opportunity  for  a  final  and  decisive  stroke. 
Washington  had  confidence  in  the  people  of  the 
country  and  in  himself,  but  the  difficulties  in  the 
way  were  huge,  and  the  means  of  surmounting 
them  slight.  There  is  here  and  there  a  passionate 
undertone  in  the  letters  of  this  period,  which  shows 
us  the  moments  when  the  waves  of  trouble  and  dis 
aster  seemed  to  sweep  over  him.  But  the  feeling 
passed,  or  was  trampled  under  foot,  for  there  was 
no  break  in  the  steady  fight  against  untoward 
circumstances,  or  in  the  grim  refusal  to  accept 
defeat. 

It  is  almost  impossible  now  to  conceive  the 
actual  condition  at  that  time  of  every  matter  of 
detail  which  makes  military  and  political  existence 
possible.  No  general  phrases  can  do  justice  to  the 
situation  of  the  army ;  and  the  petty  miseries  and 
privations,  which  made  life  unendurable,  went  on 
from  day  to  day  in  ever  varying  forms.  While 
Washington  was  hearing  the  first  ill  news  from  the 
south  and  struggling  with  the  problem  on  that  side, 
and  at  the  same  time  was  planning  with  Lafayette 
how  to  take  advantage  of  the  French  succors,  the 
means  of  subsisting  his  army  were  wholly  giving 
out.  The  men  actually  had  no  food.  For  days, 
as  Washington  wrote,  there  was  no  meat  at  all  in 


THE   WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  283 

camp.  Goaded  by  hunger,  a  Connecticut  regiment 
mutinied.  They  were  brought  back  to  duty,  but 
held  out  steadily  for  their  pay,  which  they  had  not 
received  for  five  months.  Indeed,  the  whole  army 
was  more  or  less  mutinous,  and  it  was  only  by 
the  utmost  tact  that  Washington  kept  them  from 
wholesale  desertion.  After  the  summer  had  passed 
and  the  chance  for  a  decisive  campaign  had  gone 
with  it,  the  excitement  of  expected  action  ceased 
to  sustain  the  men,  and  the  unclothed,  unpaid,  unfed 
soldiers  began  again  to  get  restive.  We  can  im* 
agine  what  the  condition  of  the  rank  and  file  must 
have  been  when  we  find  that  Washington  hirnsell 
could  not  procure  an  express  from  the  quarter 
master-general,  and  was  obliged  to  send  a  letter  to 
the  Minister  of  France  by  the  unsafe  and  slow 
medium  of  the  post.  He  was  expected  to  carry 
on  a  war  against  a  rich  and  powerful  enemy,  and 
he  could  not  even  pay  a  courier  to  carry  his  dis 
patches. 

With  the  commander-in-chief  thus  straitened, 
the  sufferings  of  the  men  grew  to  be  intoler 
able,  and  the  spirit  of  revolt  which  had  been 
checked  through  the  summer  began  again  to  ap 
pear.  At  last,  in  January,  1781,  it  burst  all  the 
bounds.  The  Pennsylvania  line  mutinied  and 
threatened  Congress.  Attempts  on  the  part  of  the 
English  to  seduce  them  failed,  but  they  remained 
in  a  state  of  open  rebellion.  The  officers  were 
powerless,  and  it  looked  as  if  the  disaffection 
would  spread,  and  the  whole  army  go  to  pieces  in 


284  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  very  face  of  the  enemy.  Washington  held 
firm,  and  intended  in  his  unshaken  way  to  bring 
them  back  to  their  duty  without  yielding  in  a  dan 
gerous  fashion.  But  the  government  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  at  last  thoroughly  frightened,  rushed  into 
the  field,  and  patched  up  a  compromise  which  con 
tained  most  perilous  concessions.  The  natural  con 
sequence  was  a  fresh  mutiny  in  the  New  Jersey 
line,  and  this  time  Washington  determined  that  he 
would  not  be  forestalled.  He  sent  forward  at  once 
some  regiments  of  loyal  troops,  suppressed  the  mu 
tiny  suddenly  and  with  a  strong  hand,  and  hanged 
two  of  the  ringleaders.  The  difficulty  was  con 
quered,  and  discipline  restored. 

To  take  this  course  required  great  boldness,  for 
these  mutinies  were  of  no  ordinary  character;  In 
the  first  place,  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether 
any  troops  would  do  their  duty  against  their  fel 
lows,  and  failure  would  have  been  fatal.  In  the 
second  place,  the  grievances  of  the  soldiers  were 
very  great,  and  their  complaints  were  entirely 
righteous^  Washington  felt  the  profoundest  sym 
pathy  with  his  men,  and  it  was  no  easy  matter 
to  maintain  order  with  soldiers  tried  almost  be 
yond  endurance,  against  their  comrades  whose 
claims  were  just.  Two  things  saved  the  army. 
One  was  Washington's  great  influence  with  the 
men  and  their  utter  belief  in  him.  The  other  was 
the  quality  of  the  men  themselves.  Lafayette  said 
they  were  the  most  patient  and  patriotic  soldiers 
the  world  had  seen,  and  it  is  easy  to  believe  him. 


THE   WAR  IN  THE  SOUTH.  285 

The  wonder  is,  not  that  they  mutinied  when  they 
did,  but  that  the  whole  army  had  riot  mutinied  and 
abandoned  the  struggle  years  before.  The  misfor 
tunes  and  mistakes  of  the  Revolution,  to  whom 
ever  due,  were  in  no  respect  to  be  charged  to  the 
army,  and  the  conduct  of  the  troops  through  all 
the  dreary  months  of  starvation  and  cold  and  pov 
erty  is  a  proof  of  the  intelligent  patriotism  and 
patient  courage  of  the  American  soldier  which  can 
never  be  gainsaid.  To  fight  successful  battles  is 
the  test  of  a  good  general,  but  to  hold  together 
a  suffering  army  through  years  of  unexampled 
privations,  to  meet  endless  failure  of  details  with 
unending  expedients,  and  then  to  fight  battles  and 
plan  campaigns,  shows  a  leader  who  was  far  more 
than  a  good  general.  Such  multiplied  trials  and 
difficulties  are  overcome  only  by  a  great  soldier 
who  with  small  means  achieves  large  results,  and 
by  a  great  man  who  by  force  of  will  and  charac 
ter  can  establish  with  all  who  follow  him  a  power 
which  no  miseries  can  conquer,  and  no  suffering 
diminish. 

The  height  reached  by  the  troubles  in  the  army 
and  their  menacing  character  had,  however,  a  good 
as  well  as  a  bad  side.  They  penetrated  the  indif 
ference  and  carelessness  of  both  Congress  and  the 
States.  Gentlemen  in  the  confederate  and  local 
administrations  and  legislatures  woke  up  to  a  real 
izing  sense  that  the  dissolution  of  the  army  meant 
a  general  wreck,  in  which  their  own  necks  would 
be  in  very  considerable  danger ;  and  they  also  had 


286  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

an  uneasy  feeling  that  starving  and  mutinous  sol 
diers  were  very  uncertain  in  taking  revenge.  The 
condition  of  the  army  gave  a  sadden  and  pierc 
ing  reality  to  Washington's  indignant  words  to 
Mathews  on  October  4th  :  "  At  a  time  when  public 
harmony  is  so  essential,  when  we  should  aid  and 
assist  each  other  with  all  our  abilities,  when  our 
hearts  should  be  open  to  information  and  our 
hands  ready  to  administer  relief,  to  find  distrusts 
and  jealousies  taking  possession  of  the  mind  and 
a  party  spirit  prevailing  affords  a  most  melancholy 
reflection,  and  forebodes  no  good."  The  hoarse 
murmur  of  impending  mutiny  emphasized  strongly 
the  words  written  on  the  same  day  to  Duane : 
"  The  history  of  the  war  is  a  history  of  false  hopes 
and  temporary  expedients.  Would  to  God  they 
were  to  end  here." 

The  events  in  the  south,  too,  had  a  sobering 
effect.  The  congressional  general  Gates  had  not 
proved  a  success.  His  defeat  at  Camden  had  been 
terribly  complete,  and  his  flight  had  been  too  rapid 
to  inspire  confidence  in  his  capacity  for  recupera 
tion.  The  members  of  Congress  were  thus  led  to 
believe  that  as  managers  of  military  matters  they 
left  much  to  be  desired ;  and  when  Washington, 
on  October  llth,  addressed  to  them  one  of  his  long 
and  admirable  letters  on  reorganization,  it  was  re 
ceived  in  a  very  chastened  spirit.  They  had  lis 
tened  to  many  such  letters  before,  and  had  benefited 
by  them  always  a  little,  but  danger  and  defeat  gave 
this  one  peculiar  point.  They  therefore  accepted 


THE   WAR  JN  THE  SOUTH.  287 

the  situation,  and  adopted  all  the  suggestions  of 
the  commander-in-chief.  They  also  in  the  same 
reasonable  frame  of  mind  determined  that  Wash 
ington  should  select  the  next  general  for  the  south 
ern  army.  A  good  deal  could  have  been  saved  had 
this  decision  been  reached  before ;  but  even  now 
it  was  not  too  late.  October  14th,  Washington 
appointed  Greene  to  this  post  of  difficulty  and 
danger,  and  Greene's  assumption  of  the  command 
marks  the  turning-point  in  the  tide  of  disaster,  and 
the  beginning  of  the  ultimate  expulsion  of  the 
British  from  the  only  portion  of  the  colonies  where 
they  had  made  a  tolerable  campaign. 

The  uses  of  adversity,  moreover,  did  not  stop 
here.  They  extended  to  the  States,  which  began 
to  grow  more  vigorous  in  action,  and  to  show  signs 
of  appreciating  the  gravity  of  the  situation  and  the 
duties  which  rested  upon  them.  This  change  and 
improvement  both  in  Congress  and  the  States  came 
none  too  soon.  Indeed,  as  it  was,  the  results  of 
their  renewed  efforts  were  too  slow  to  be  felt  at 
once  by  the  army,  and  mutinies  broke  out  even 
after  the  new  spirit  had  shown  itself.  Washington 
also  sent  Knox  to  travel  from  State  to  State,  to 
see  the  various  governors,  and  lay  the  situation  of 
affairs  before  them ;  yet  even  with  such  a  text  it 
was  a  difficult  struggle  to  get  the  States  to  make 
quick  and  strong  exertions  sufficient  to  prevent  a 
partial  mutiny  from  becoming  a  general  revolt. 
The  lesson,  however,  had  had  its  effect.  For  the 
moment,  at  least,  the  cause  was  saved.  The  worst 


288  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

defects  were  temporarily  remedied,  and  something 
was  done  toward  supplies  and  subsistence.  The 
army  would  be  able  to  exist  through  another  winter, 
and  face  another  summer.  Then  the  next  cam 
paign  might  bring  the  decisive  moment ;  but  still, 
who  could  tell  ?  Years,  instead  of  months,  might 
yet  elapse  before  the  end  was  reached,  and  then  no 
man  could  say  what  the  result  would  be. 

Washington  saw  plainly  enough  that  the  relief 
and  improvement  were  only  temporary,  and  that 
carelessness  and  indifference  were  likety  to  return, 
and  be  more  case-hardened  than  ever.  He  was  too 
strong  and  sane  a  man  to  waste  time  in  fighting 
shadows  or  in  nourishing  himself  with  hopes.  He 
dealt  with  the  present  as  he  found  it,  and  fought 
down  difficulties  as  they  sprang  up  in  his  path. 
But  he  was  also  a  man  of  extraordinary  prescience, 
with  a  foresight  as  penetrating  as  it  was  judicious. 
It  was,  perhaps,  his  most  remarkable  gift,  and  while 
he  controlled  the  present  he  studied  the  future. 
Outside  of  the  operations  of  armies,  and  the  plans 
of  campaign,  he  saw,  as  the  war  progressed,  that 
the  really  fatal  perils  were  involved  in  the  political 
system.  At  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution  there 
was  no  organization  outside  the  local  state  govern 
ments.  Congress  voted  and  resolved  in  favor  of 
anything  that  seemed  proper,  and  the  States  re 
sponded  to  their  appeal.  In  the  first  flush  of  revo 
lution,  and  the  first  excitement  of  freedom,  this  was 
all  very  well.  But  as  the  early  passion  cooled,  and 
a  long  and  stubborn  struggle,  replete  with  suffer- 


THE    WAR   IN  THE  SOUTH.  289 

ings  and  defeat,  developed  itself,  the  want  of  sys 
tem  began  to  appear. 

One  of  the  earliest  tasks  of  Congress  was  the 
formation  of  articles  for  a  general  government,  but 
state  jealousies,  and  the  delays  incident  to  the  move 
ments  of  thirteen  sovereignties,  prevented  their 
adoption  until  the  war  was  nearly  over.  Washing 
ton,  suffering  from  all  the  complicated  troubles  of 
jarring  States  and  general  incoherence,  longed  for 
and  urged  the  adoption  of  the  act  of  confederation. 
He  saw  sooner  than  any  one  else,  and  with  more 
painful  intensity,  the  need  of  better  union  and  more 
energetic  government.  As  the  days  and  months  of 
difficulties  and  trials  went  by,  the  suggestions  on 
this  question  in  his  letters  grew  more  frequent  and 
more  urgent,  and  they  showed  the  insight  of  the 
statesman  and  practical  man  of  affairs.  How  much 
he  hoped  from  the  final  acceptance  of  the  act  of 
confederation  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  but  he  hoped  for 
some  improvement  certainly.  When  at  last  it  went 
into  force,  he  saw  almost  at  once  that  it  would  not 
do,  and  in  the  spring  of  1780  he  knew  it  to  be 
a  miserable  failure.  The  system  which  had  been 
established  was  really  no  better  than  that  which 
had  preceded  it.  With  alarm  and  disgust  Wash 
ington  found  himself  flung  back  on  what  he  called 
"  the  pernicious  state  system,"  and  with  worse 
prospects  than  ever. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  Revolution  he  had  never 
given  attention  to  the  philosophy  or  science  of 
government,  but  when  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  fight 


290  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

the  war  for  independence  he  perceived  almost  im 
mediately  the  need  of  a  strong  central  government, 
and  his  suggestions,  scattered  broadcast  among 
his  correspondents,  manifested  a  knowledge  of  the 
conditions  of  the  political  problem  possessed  by  no 
one  else  at  that  period.  When  he  was  satisfied 
of  the  failure  of  the  confederation,  his  efforts  to 
improve  the  existing  administration  multiplied, 
and  he  soon  had  the  assistance  of  his  aide-de-camp, 
Alexander  Hamilton,  who  then  wrote,  although 
little  more  than  a  boy,  his  remarkable  letters 
on  government  and  finance,  which  were  the  first 
full  expositions  of  the  political  necessities  from 
which  sprang  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 
Washington  was  vigorous  in  action  and  methodi 
cal  in  business,  while  the  system  of  thirteen  sov 
ereignties  was  discordant,  disorderly,  and  feeble  in 
execution.  He  knew  that  the  vices  inherent  in  the 
confederation  were  ineradicable  and  fatal,  and  he 
also  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  expect  any  compre 
hensive  reforms  until  the  war  was  over.  The  prob 
lem  before  him  was  whether  the  existing  machine 
could  be  made  to  work  until  the  British  were  finally 
driven  from  the  country.  The  winter  of  1780—81 
was  marked,  therefore,  on  his  part,  by  an  urgent 
striving  for  union,  and  by  unceasing  efforts  to  mend 
and  improve  the  rickety  system  of  the  confedera 
tion.  It  was  with  this  view  that  he  secured  the 
despatch  of  Laurens,  whom  he  carefully  instructed, 
to  get  money  in  Paris  ;  for  he  was  satisfied  that  it 
was  only  possible  to  tide  over  the  financial  difncul- 


THE   WAR  IN   THE  SOUTH.  291 

ties  by  foreign  loans  from  those  interested  in  our 
success.  In  the  same  spirit  he  worked  to  bring 
about  the  establishment  of  executive  departments, 
which  was  finally  accomplished,  after  delays  that 
sorely  tried  his  patience.  These  two  cases  were  but 
the  most  important  among  many  of  similar  charac 
ter,  for  he  was  always  at  work  on  these  perplexing 
questions. 

It  is  an  astonishing  proof  of  the  strength  and 
power  of  his  mind  that  he  was  able  to  solve  the 
daily  questions  of  army  existence,  to  deal  with 
the  allies,  to  plan  attacks  on  New  York,  to  watch 
and  scheme  for  the  southern  department,  to  cope 
with  Arnold's  treason,  with  mutiny,  and  with  ad 
ministrative  imbecility,  and  at  the  very  same  time 
consider  the  gravest  governmental  problems,  and 
send  forth  wise  suggestions,  which  met  the  exigen 
cies  of  the  moment,  and  laid  the  foundation  of 
much  that  afterwards  appeared  in  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States.  He  was  not  a  speculator  on 
government,  and  after  his  fashion  he  was  engaged 
in  dealing  with  the  questions  of  the  day  and  hour. 
Yet  the  ideas  that  he  put  forth  in  this  time  of  con 
fusion  and  conflict  and  expedients  were  so  vitally 
sound  and  wise  that  they  deserve  the  most  care 
ful  study  in  relation  to  after  events.  The  polit 
ical  trials  and  difficulties  of  this  period  were  the 
stern  teachers  from  whom  Washington  acquired 
the  knowledge  and  experience  which  made  him  the 
principal  agent  in  bringing  about  the  formation  and 
adoption  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 


292  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

We  shall  have  occasion  to  examine  these  opinions 
and  views  more  closely  when  they  were  afterwards 
brought  into  actual  play.  At  this  point  it  is  only 
necessary  to  trace  the  history  of  the  methods  by 
which  he  solved  the  problem  of  the  Revolution 
before  the  political  system  of  the  confederation 
became  absolutely  useless. 


CHAPTER  X. 

YOKKTOWN. 

THE  failure  to  accomplish  anything  in  the  north 
caused  Washington,  as  the  year  drew  to  a  close, 
to  turn  his  thoughts  once  more  toward  a  combined 
movement  at  the  south.  In  pursuance  of  this  idea, 
he  devised  a  scheme  of  uniting  with  the  Span 
iards  in  the  seizure  of  Florida,  and  of  advancing 
thence  through  Georgia  to  assail  the  English  in  the 
rear.  De  Rochambeau  did  not  approve  the  plan 
and  it  was  abandoned ;  but  the  idea  of  a  southern 
movement  was  still  kept  steadily  in  sight.  The 
governing  thought  now  was,  not  to  protect  this 
place  or  that,  but  to  cast  aside  everything  else 
in  order  to  strike  one  great  blow  which  would  fin 
ish  the  war.  Where  he  could  do  this,  time  alone 
would  show,  but  if  one  follows  the  correspondence 
closely,  it  is  apparent  that  Washington's  military 
instinct  turned  more  and  more  toward  the  south. 

In  that  department  affairs  changed  their  aspect 
rapidly.  January  17th,  Morgan  won  his  brilliant 
victory  at  the  Cowpens,  withdrew  in  good  order 
with  his  prisoners,  and  united  his  army  with  that  of 
Greene.  Cornwallis  was  terribly  disappointed  by 
this  unexpected  reverse,  but  he  determined  to  push 
on,  defeat  the  combined  American  army,  and  then 


294  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

join  the  British  forces  on  the  Chesapeake.    Greene 
was  too  weak  to  risk  a  battle,  and  made  a  masterly 
retreat  of  two  hundred  miles  before  Cornwallis,  es 
caping  across  the  Dan  only  twelve  hours  ahead  of 
the  enemy.     The  moment  the  British  moved  away, 
Greene  recrossed  the  river  and  hung  upon   their 
rear.     For  a  month  he  kept  in  their  neighborhood, 
checking  the  rising  of  the  Tories,  and  declining 
battle.     At  last  he    received   reinforcements,  felt 
strong  enough  to  stand  his  ground,  and  on  March 
15th  the    battle  of    Guilford    Court    House    was 
fought.     It    was    a  sharp    and   bloody  fight ;    the 
British  had  the  advantage,  and  Greene  abandoned 
the  field,   bringing   off   his  army  in  good    order. 
Cornwallis,  on   his  part,  had  suffered    so  heavily, 
however,  that  his  victory  turned  to  ashes.     On  the 
18th  he  was  in  full  retreat,  with   Greene  in  hot 
chase,  and  it  was  not  until  the  28th  that  he  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  over  the  Deep  River  and  escap 
ing  to  Wilmington.    Thence  he  determined  to  push 
on  and  transfer  the  seat  of  war  to  the  Chesapeake. 
Greene,   with  the    boldness    and  quickness    which 
showed  him  to  be  a  soldier  of  a  high  order,  now 
dropped  the  pursuit  and  turned  back  to  fight  the 
British  in  detachments  and  free  the  southern  States. 
There  is  no  need  to  follow  him  in  the  brilliant  oper 
ations  which    ensued,  and  by  which   he  achieved 
this  result.     It  is  sufficient  to  say  here  that  he  had 
altered  the  whole  aspect  of  the  war,  forced  Corn 
wallis  into  Virginia  within  reach  of  Washington, 
and  begun  the  work  of  redeeming  the  Carolinas. 


YORKTOWN.  295 

The  troops  which  Cornwallis  intended  to  join 
had  been  sent  in  detachments  to  Virginia  during 
the  winter  and  spring.  The  first  body  had  arrived 
early  in  January  under  the  command  of  Arnold, 
and  a  general  marauding  and  ravaging  took  place. 
A  little  later  General  Phillips  arrived  with  rein 
forcements  and  took  command.  On  May  13th, 
General  Phillips  died,  and  a  week  later  Cornwallis 
appeared  at  Petersburg,  assumed  control,  and  sent 
Arnold  back  to  New  York. 

Meantime  Washington,  though  relieved  by  Mor 
gan's  and  Greene's  admirable  work,  had  a  most 
trying  and  unhappy  winter  and  spring.  He  sent 
every  man  he  could  spare,  and  more  than  he  ought 
to  have  spared,  to  Greene,  and  he  stripped  himself 
still  further  when  the  invasion  of  Virginia  began. 
Bat  for  the  most  part  he  was  obliged,  from  lack 
of  any  naval  strength,  to  stand  helplessly  by  and 
see  more  and  more  British  troops  sent  to  the  south, 
and  witness  the  ravaging  of  his  native  State,  with 
out  any  ability  to  prevent  it.  To  these  grave  trials 
was  added  a  small  one,  which  stung  him  to  the 
quick.  The  British  came  up  the  Potomac,  and 
Lund  Washington,  in  order  to  preserve  Mount 
Vernon,  gave  them  refreshments,  and  treated  them 
in  a  conciliatory  manner.  He  meant  well  but  acted 
ill,  and  Washington  wrote  : 

"  It  would  have  been  a  less  painful  circumstance 
to  me  to  have  heard  that,  in  consequence  of  your 
non-compliance  with  their  request,  they  had  burnt 
iny  house  and  laid  the  plantation  in  ruins.  You 


296  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

ought  to  have  considered  yourself  as  my  repre 
sentative,  and  should  have  reflected  on  the  bad  ex 
ample  of  communicating  with  the  enemy,  and  mak 
ing  a  voluntary  offer  of  refreshments  to  them,  with 
a  view  to  prevent  a  conflagration." 

What  a  clear  glimpse  this  little  episode  gives  of 
the  earnestness  of  the  man  who  wrote  these  lines. 
He  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  any  favor  should 
be  shown  him  on  any  pretence.  He  was  ready  to 
take  his  share  of  the  marauding  and  pillaging  with 
the  rest,  but  he  was  deeply  indignant  at  the  idea 
that  any  one  representing  him  should  even  appear 
to  ask  a  favor  of  the  British. 

Altogether,  the  spring  of  1781  was  very  trying, 
for  there  was  nothing  so  galling  to  Washington  as 
to  be  unable  to  fight.  He  wanted  to  get  to  the 
south,  but  he  was  bound  hand  and  foot  by  lack 
of  force.  Yet  the  obstacles  did  not  daunt  or  de 
press  him.  He  wrote  in  June  that  he  felt  sure  of 
bringing  the  war  to  a  happy  conclusion,  and  in  the 
division  of  the  British  forces  he  saw  his  opportu 
nity  taking  shape.  Greene  had  the  southern  forces 
well  in  hand.  Cornwallis  was  equally  removed 
from  Clinton  on  the  north  and  Rawdon  on  the 
south,  and  had  come  within  reach  ;  so  that  if  he 
could  but  have  naval  strength  he  could  fall  upon 
Cornwallis  with  superior  force  and  crush  him.  In 
naval  matters  fortune  thus  far  had  dealt  hardly 
with  him,  yet  he  could  not  but  feel  that  a  French 
fleet  of  sufficient  force  must  soon  come.  He  grasped 
the  situation  with  a  master -hand,  and  began  to 


YORKTO  WN.  297 

prepare  the  way.  Still  he  kept  his  counsel  strictly 
to  himself,  and  set  to  work  to  threaten,  and  if  pos 
sible  to  attack,  New  York,  not  with  much  hope  of 
succeeding  in  any  such  attempt,  but  with  a  view  of 
frightening  Clinton  and  of  inducing  him  either  to 
withdraw  troops  from  Virginia,  or  at  least  to  with 
hold  reinforcements.  As  he  began  his  Virginian 
campaign  in  this  distant  and  remote  fashion  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Hudson,  he  was  cheered  by  news 
that  De  Grasse,  the  French  admiral,  had  sent  re 
cruits  to  Newport,  and  intended  to  come  himself  to 
the  American  coast.  He  at  once  wrote  De  Grasse 
not  to  determine  absolutely  to  come  to  New  York, 
hinting  that  it  might  prove  more  advisable  to  op- 
crate  to  the  southward.  It  required  great  tact  to 
keep  the  French  fleet  where  he  needed  it,  and  yet 
not  reveal  his  intentions,  and  nothing  showed  Wash 
ington's  foresight  more  plainly  than  the  manner  in 
which  he  made  the  moves  in  this  campaign,  when 
miles  of  space  and  weeks  of  time  separated  him 
from  the  final  object  of  his  plans.  To  trace  this 
mastery  of  details,  and  the  skill  with  which  every 
point  was  remembered  and  covered,  would  require 
a  long  and  minute  narrative.  They  can  only  be 
indicated  here  sufficiently  to  show  how  exactly 
each  movement  fitted  in  its  place,  and  how  all  to 
gether  brought  the  great  result. 

Fortified  by  the  good  news  from  De  Grasse, 
Washington  had  an  interview  with  De  Rocham- 
beau,  and  effected  a  junction  with  the  French 
army.  Thus  strengthened,  he  opened  his  cam- 


298  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

paign  against  Cornwallis  by  beginning  a  move 
ment  against  Clinton.  The  troops  were  massed 
above  the  city,  and  an  effort  was  made  to  surprise 
the  upper  posts  and  destroy  Delaneey's  partisan 
corps.  The  attempt,  although  well  planned,  failed 
of  its  immediate  purpose,  giving  Washington  op 
portunity  only  for  an  effective  reconnoissance  of 
the  enemy's  positions.  But  the  move  was  perfectly 
successful  in  its  real  and  indirect  object.  Clinton 
was  alarmed.  He  began  to  write  to  Cornwallis 
that  troops  should  be  returned  to  New  York,  and 
he  gave  up  absolutely  the  idea  of  sending  more  men 
to  Virginia.  Having  thus  convinced  Clinton  that 
New  York  was  menaced,  Washington  then  set  to 
work  to  familiarize  skilfully  the  minds  of  his  allies 
and  of  Congress  with  the  idea  of  a  southern  cam 
paign.  With  this  end  in  view,  he  wrote  on  Au 
gust  2d  that,  if  more  troops  arrived  from  Virginia, 
New  York  would  be  impracticable,  and  that  the 
next  point  was  the  south.  The  only  contingency, 
as  he  set  forth,  was  the  all-important  one  of  obtain 
ing  naval  superiority.  August  15th  this  essential 
condition  gave  promise  of  fulfilment,  for  on  that 
day  definite  news  arrived  that  De  Grasse  with  his 
fleet  was  on  his  way  to  the  Chesapeake.  Without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  Washington  began  to  move, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  sent  an  urgent  letter  to  the 
New  England  governors,  demanding  troops  with  an 
earnestness  which  he  had  never  surpassed. 

In  Virginia,  meanwhile,  during  these  long  mid 
summer  days,  while  Washington  was  waiting  and 


YORKTOWN.  299 

planning,  Cornwallis  had  been  going  up  and  down, 
harrying,  burning,  and  plundering.  His  cavalry 
had  scattered  the  legisjature,  and  driven  Governor 
Jefferson  in  headlong  flight  over  the  hills,  while 
property  to  the  value  of  more  than  three  millions 
had  been  destroyed.  Lafayette,  sent  by  Washing 
ton  to  maintain  the  American  cause,  had  been  too 
weak  to  act  decisively,  but  he  had  been  true  to  his 
general's  teaching,  and,  refusing  battle,  had  hung 
upon  the  flanks  of  the  British  and  harassed  and 
checked  them.  Joined  by  Wayne,  he  had  fought 
an  unsuccessful  engagement  at  Green  Springs,  but 
brought  off  his  army,  and  with  steady  pertinacity 
followed  the  enemy  to  the  coast,  gathering  strength 
as  he  moved.  Now,  when  all  was  at  last  ready, 
Washington  began  to  draw  his  net  about  Corn 
wallis,  whom  he  had  been  keenly  watching  during 
the  victorious  marauding  of  the  summer.  On  the 
news  of  the  coming  of  the  French  fleet,  he  wrote 
to  Lafayette  to  be  prepared  to  join  him  when  he 
reached  Virginia,  to  retain  W^ayne,  who  intended  to 
join  Greene,  and  to  stop  Cornwallis  at  all  hazards, 
if  he  attempted  to  go  southward. 

Cornwallis,  however,  had  no  intention  of  moving. 
He  had  seen  the  peril  of  his  position,  and  had 
wished  to  withdraw  to  Charleston  ;  but  the  minis 
try,  highly  pleased  with  his  performances,  wished 
him  to  remain  on  the  Chesapeake,  and  decisive 
orders  came  to  him  to  take  a  permanent  post 
in  that  region.  Clinton,  moreover,  was  jealous  of 
Cornwallis,  and,  impressed  and  deceived  by  Wash- 


300  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ington's  movements,  he  not  only  sent  no  reinforce 
ments,  but  detained  three  thousand  Hessians,  who 
had  lately  arrived.  Cornwallis,  therefore,  had  no 
choice,  and  with  much  writing  for  aid,  and  some 
protesting,  he  obeyed  his  orders,  planted  himself  at 
Yorktowii  and  Gloucester,  and  proceeded  to  fortify, 
while  Lafayette  kept  close  watch  upon  him.  Corn 
wallis  was  a  good  soldier  and  a  clever  man,  suf 
fering,  as  Burgoyne  did,  from  a  stupid  ministry 
and  a  dull  and  jealous  commander-in-chief.  Thus 
hampered  and  burdened,  he  was  ready  to  fall  a 
victim  to  the  operations  of  a  really  great  general, 
whom  his  official  superiors  in  England  undervalued 
and  despised. 

August  17th,  as  soon  as  he  had  set  his  own  ma 
chinery  in  motion,  Washington  wrote  to  De  Grasse 
to  meet  him  in  the  Chesapeake.  He  was  working 
now  more  anxiously  and  earnestly  than  at  any 
time  in  the  Eevolution,  not  merely  because  he  felt 
that  success  depended  on  the  blow,  but  because  he 
descried  a  new  and  alarming  danger.  He  had 
perceived  it  in  June,  and  the  idea  pursued  him 
until  all  was  over,  and  kept  recurring  in  his  letters 
during  this  strained  and  eager  summer.  To  Wash 
ington's  eyes,  watching  campaigns  and  government 
at  home  and  the  politics  of  Europe  abroad,  the 
signs  of  exhaustion,  of  mediation,  and  of  coming 
peace  across  the  Atlantic  were  plainly  visible.  If 
peace  should  come  as  things  then  were,  America 
would  get  independence,  and  be  shorn  of  many 
of  her  most  valuable  possessions.  The  sprawling 


YORK  TO  WN.  301 

British  campaign  of  maraud  and  plunder,  so  bad 
in  a  military  point  of  view,  and  about  to  prove  fa 
tal  to  Cornwallis,  would,  in  case  of  sudden  cessation 
of  hostilities,  be  capable  of  the  worst  construction. 
Time,  therefore,  had  become  of  the  last  importance, 
The  decisive  blow  must  be  given  at  once,  and 
before  the  slow  political  movements  could  come  to 
a  head.  On  July  14th,  Washington  had  his  plan 
mapped  out.  He  wrote  in  his  diary  : 

"Matters  having  now  come  to  a  crisis,  and  a 
decided  plan  to  be  determined  on,  I  was  obliged  — 
from  the  shortness  of  Count  De  Grasse's  promised 
stay  on  this  coast,  the  apparent  disinclination  of 
their  naval  officers  to  force  the  harbor  of  New 
York,  and  the  feeble  compliance  of  the  States  with 
my  requisitions  for  men  hitherto,  and  the  little 
prospect  of  greater  exertions  in  future  —  to  give 
up  all  ideas  of  attacking  New  York,  and  instead 
thereof  to  remove  the  French  troops  and  a  detach 
ment  from  the  American  army  to  the  Head  of  Elk, 
to  be  transported  to  Virginia  for  the  purpose  of 
cooperating  with  the  force  from  the  West  Indies 
against  the  troops  in  that  State." 

Like  most  of  Washington's  plans,  this  one  was 
clear-cut  and  direct,  and  looks  now  simple  enough, 
but  at  the  moment  it  was  hedged  with  almost  incon 
ceivable  difficulties  at  every  step.  The  ever-present 
and  ever-growing  obstacles  at  home  were  there  as 
usual.  Appeals  to  Morris  for  money  were  met 
by  the  most  discouraging  responses,  and  the  States 
seemed  more  lethargic  than  ever.  Neither  men  nor 


302  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

supplies  could  be  obtained ;  neither  transportation 
nor  provision  for  the  march  could  be  promised. 
Then,  too,  in  addition  to  all  this,  came  a  wholly 
new  set  of  stumbling-blocks  arising  among  the 
allies.  Everything  hinged  on  the  naval  force. 
Washington  needed  it  for  a  short  time  only ;  but 
for  that  crucial  moment  he  must  have  not  only 
superiority  but  supremacy  at  sea.  Every  French 
ship  that  could  be  reached  must  be  in  the  Chesa 
peake,  and  Washington  had  had  too  many  French 
fleets  slip  away  from  him  at  the  last  moment  and 
bring  everything  to  naught  to  take  any  chances 
in  this  direction.  To  bring  about  his  naval  su 
premacy  required  the  utmost  tact  and  good  man 
agement,  and  that  he  succeeded  is  one  of  the  chief 
triumphs  of  the  campaign.  In  fact,  at  the  very  out 
set  he  was  threatened  in  this  quarter  with  a  serious 
defection.  De  Barras,  with  the  American  squad 
ron,  was  at  Boston,  and  it  was  essential  that  he 
should  be  united  with  De  Grasse  at  Yorktown. 
But  De  Barras  was  nettled  by  the  favoritism  which 
had  made  De  Grasse,  his  junior  in  service,  his 
superior  in  command.  He  determined  therefore  to 
take  advantage  of  his  orders  and  sail  away  to  the 
north  to  Nova  Scotia  and  Newfoundland,  and  leave 
De  Grasse  to  fight  it  out  alone.  It  is  a  hard  thing 
to  beat  an  opposing  army,  but  it  is  equally  hard 
to  bring  human  jealousies  and  ambitions  into  the 
narrow  path  of  self-sacrifice  and  subordination. 
Alarmed  beyond  measure  at  the  suggested  depart 
ure  of  the  Boston  squadron,  Washington  wrote  a 


YORKTOWN.  303 

letter,  which  De  Rochambeau  signed  with  him,  urg 
ing  De  Barras  to  turn  his  fleet  toward  the  Chesa 
peake.     It  was  a  skilfully  drawn  missive,  an  adroit 
mingling  of  appeals  to  honor  and  sympathy  and  of 
vigorous  demands  to  perform  an  obvious  duty.    The 
letter  did  its  work,  the  diplomacy  of  Washington 
was  successful,  and  De  Barras  suppressed  his  feel 
ings   of  disappointment,  and  agreed  to  go  to  the 
Chesapeake  and  serve  under  De  Grasse. 
'•*  This  point   made,   Washington   pushed    on    his 
preparations,  or  rather  pushed  on  despite  his  lack 
of  preparations,  and  on  August  17th,  as  has  been 
said,  wrote  to  De  Grasse  to  meet  him  in  the  Chesa 
peake.     He  left  the  larger  part  of  his  own  troops 
with  Heath,  to  whom  in  carefully  drawn  instructions 
he  entrusted  the  grave  duty  of  guarding  the  Hud 
son  and  watching  the  British  in  New  York.     This 
done,   he   gathered    his   forces    together,    and    on 
August  21st  the  army  started  on  its  march  to  the 
south.     On  the  23d  and  24th  it  crossed  the  Hud 
son,  without  annoyance  from   the  British  of   any 
kind.     Washington  had  threatened  New  York  so 
effectively,  and    manoeuvred    so  successfully,  that 
Clinton  could  not  be  shaken  in  his  belief  that  the 
real  object  of  the  Americans  was  his  own  army ; 
and  it  was  not  until  September  2d  that  he  real 
ized  that  his  enemy  was  going  to  the   south,  and 
that  Cornwallis  was  in  danger.     He  even  then  hesi 
tated  and  delayed,  but  finally  dispatched  Admiral 
Graves  with   the   fleet   to   the   Chesapeake.     The 
Admiral  came  upon  the  French  early  on  Septem- 


304  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ber  5th,  the  very  day  that  Washington  was  rejoic 
ing  in  the  news  that  De  Grasse  had  arrived  in  the 
Chesapeake  and  had  landed  St.  Simon  and  three 
thousand  men  to  support  Lafayette.  As  soon  as 
the  English  fleet  appeared,  the  French,  although 
many  of  their  men  were  on  shore,  sailed  out  and 
gave  battle.  An  indecisive  action  ensued,  in  which 
the  British  suffered  so  much  that  five  days  later 
they  burned  one  of  their  frigates  and  withdrew  to 
New  York.  De  Grasse  returned  to  his  anchorage, 
to  find  that  De  Barras  had  come  in  from  Newport 
with  eight  ships  and  ten  transports  carrying  ord 
nance. 

While  everything  was  thus  moving  well  toward 
the  consummation  of  the  campaign,  Washington, 
in  the  midst  of  his  delicate  and  important  work  of 
breaking  camp  and  beginning  his  rapid  march  to 
the  south,  was  harassed  by  the  ever-recurring  diffi 
culties  of  the  feeble  and  bankrupt  government  of 
the  confederation,  lie  wrote  again  and  again  to 
Morris  for  money,  and  finally  got  some.  His  de 
mands  for  men  and  supplies  remained  almost  un 
heeded,  but  somehow  he  got  provisions  enough  to 
start.  He  foresaw  the  most  pressing  need,  and 
sent  messages  in  all  directions  for  shipping  to 
transport  his  army  down  the  Chesapeake.  No  one 
responded,  but  still  he  gathered  the  transports ;  at 
first  a  few,  then  more,  and  finally,  after  many  de 
lays,  enough  to  move  his  army  to  Yorktown.  The 
spectacle  of  such  a  struggle,  so  heroically  made,  one 
would  think,  might  have  inspired  every  soul  on 


YORKTO  WN.  305 

the  continent  with  enthusiasm  ;  but  at  this  very 
moment,  while  Washington  was  breaking  camp  and 
marching  southward,  Congress  was  considering  the 
reduction  of  the  army  !  — which  was  as  appropriate 
as  it  would  have  been  for  the  English  Parliament 
to  have  reduced  the  navy  on  the  eve  of  Trafalgar, 
or  for  Lincoln  to  have  advised  the  restoration  of 
the  army  to  a  peace  footing  while  Grant  was  fight 
ing  in  the  Wilderness.  The  fact  was  that  the 
Continental  Congress  was  weakened  in  ability  and 
very  tired  in  point  of  nerve  and  will-power.  They 
saw  that  peace  was  coming,  and  naturally  thought 
that  the  sooner  they  could  get  it  the  better.  They 
entirely  failed  to  see,  as  Washington  saw,  that  in 
a  too  sudden  peace  lurked  the  danger  of  the  uti 
possidetis,  and  that  the  mere  fact  of  peace  by  no 
means  implied  necessarily  complete  success.  They 
did  not,  of  course,  effect  their  reductions,  but  they 
remained  inert,  and  so  for  the  most  part  did  the 
state  governments,  becoming  drags  upon  the  wheels 
of  war  instead  of  helpers  to  the  man  who  was  driv 
ing  the  Revolution  forward  to  its  goal.  Both  state 
and  confederate  governments  still  meant  well,  but 
they  were  worn  out  and  relaxed.  Yet  over  and 
through  all  these  heavy  masses  of  misapprehension 
and  feebleness,  Washington  made  his  way.  Here 
again  all  that  can  be  said  is  that  somehow  or  other 
the  thing  was  done.  We  can  take  account  of  the 
resisting  forces,  but  we  cannot  tell  just  how  they 
were  dealt  with.  We  only  know  that  one  strong 
man  trampled  them  down  and  got  what  he  wanted 
done. 


306  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

Pushing  on  after  the  joyful  news  of  the  arrival 
of  De  Grasse  had  been  received,  Washington  left 
the  army  to  go  by  water  from  the  Head  of  Elk, 
and  hurried  to  Mount  Vernon,  accompanied  by  De 
Rochambeau.  It  was  six  years  since  he  had  seen 
his  home.  He  had  left  it  a  Virginian  colonel,  full 
of  forebodings  for  his  country,  with  a  vast  and 
unknown  problem  awaiting  solution  at  his  hands. 
He  returned  to  it  the  first  soldier  of  his  day,  after 
six  years  of  battle  and  trial,  of  victory  and  defeat, 
on  the  eve  of  the  last  and  crowning  triumph.  As 
he  paused  on  the  well-beloved  spot,  and  gazed 
across  the  broad  and  beautiful  river  at  his  feet, 
thoughts  and  remembrances  must  have  come 
thronging  to  his  mind  which  it  is  given  to  few 
men  to  know.  He  lingered  there  two  days,  and 
then  pressing  on  again,  was  in  Williamsburg  on  the 
14th,  and  on  the  17th  went  on  board  the  Ville  de 
Paris  to  congratulate  De  Grasse  on  his  victory,  and 
to  concert  measures  for  the  siege. 

The  meeting  was  most  agreeable.  All  had  gone 
well,  all  promised  well,  and  everything  was  smiling 
and  harmonious.  Yet  they  were  on  the  eve  of 
the  greatest  peril  which  occurred  in  the  campaign. 
Washington  had  managed  to  scrape  together  enough 
transports ;  but  his  almost  unassisted  labors  had 
taken  time,  and  delay  had  followed.  Then  the 
transports  were  slow,  and  winds  and  tides  were 
uncertain,  and  there  was  further  delay.  The  inter 
val  permitted  De  Grasse  to  hear  that  the  British 
fleet  had  received  reinforcements,  and  to  become 


YORK  TOWN.  307 

nervous  in  consequence.  He  wanted  to  get  out  to 
sea ;  the  season  was  advancing,  and  he  was  anxious 
to  return  to  the  West  Indies  ;  and  above  all  he  did 
not  wish  to  fight  in  the  bay.  He  therefore  pro 
posed  firmly  and  vigorously  to  leave  two  ships  in 
the  river,  and  stand  out  to  sea  with  his  fleet.  The 
Yorktown  campaign  began  to  look  as  if  it  had 
reached  its  conclusion.  Once  again  Washington 
wrote  one  of  his  masterly  letters  of  expostulation 
and  remonstrance,  and  once  more  he  prevailed, 
aided  by  the  reasoning  and  appeals  of  Lafayette, 
who  carried  the  message.  De  Grasse  consented  to 
stay,  and  Washington,  grateful  beyond  measure, 
wrote  him  that  "  a  great  mind  knows  how  to  make 
personal  sacrifice  to  secure  an  important  general 
good."  Under  the  circumstances,  and  in  view  of 
the  general  truth  of  this  complimentary  sentiment, 
one  cannot  help  rejoicing  that  De  Grasse  had  "  a 
great  mind/' 

At  all  events  he  stayed,  and  thereafter  every 
thing  went  well.  The  northern  army  landed  at  Wil- 
liamsburg  and  inarched  for  Yorktown  on  the  28th. 
They  reconnoitred  the  outlying  works  the  next  day, 
and  prepared  for  an  immediate  assault ;  but  in 
the  night  Cornwallis  abandoned  all  his  outside 
works  and  withdrew  into  the  town.  Washington 
thereupon  advanced  at  once,  and  prepared  for  the 
siege.  On  the  night  of  the  5th,  the  trenches  were 
opened  only  six  hundred  yards  from  the  enemy's 
line,  and  in  three  days  the  first  parallel  was  com 
pleted.  On  the  llth  the  second  parallel  was  be- 


308  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

gun,  and  on  the  14th  the  American  batteries 
played  on  the  two  advanced  redoubts  with  such 
effect  that  the  breaches  were  pronounced  practica 
ble.  Washington  at  once  ordered  an  assault.  The 
smaller  redoubt  was  stormed  by  the  Americans 
under  Hamilton  and  taken  in  ten  minutes.  The 
other,  larger  and  more  strongly  garrisoned,  was  car 
ried  by  the  French  with  equal  gallantry,  after  half 
an  hour's  fighting.  During  the  assault  Washing 
ton  stood  in  an  embrasure  of  the  grand  battery, 
watching  the  advance  of  the  men.  He  was  always 
given  to  exposing  himself  recklessly  when  there 
was  fighting  to  be  done,  but  not  when  he  was 
only  an  observer.  This  night,  however,  he  was 
much  exposed  to  the  enemy's  fire.  One  of  his 
aides,  anxious  and  disturbed  for  his  safety,  told  him 
that  the  place  was  perilous.  "  If  you  think  so," 
was  the  quiet  answer,  "  you  are  at  liberty  to  step 
back."  The  moment  was  too  exciting,  too  fraught 
with  meaning,  to  think  of  peril.  The  old  fighting 
spirit  of  Braddock's  field  was  unchained  for  the 
last  time.  He  would  have  liked  to  head  the  Amer 
ican  assault,  sword  in  hand,  and  as  he  could  not 
do  that  he  stood  as  near  his  troops  as  he  could, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  bullets  whistling  in  the 
air  about  him.  Who  can  wonder  at  his  intense 
excitement  at  that  moment  ?  Others  saw  a  brilliant 
storming  of  two  outworks,  but  to  Washington  the 
whole  Revolution,  and  all  the  labor  and  thought 
and  conflict  of  six  years  were  culminating  in  the 
smoke  and  din  on  those  redoubts,  while  out  of  the 


YORKTO  WN.  309 

dust  and  heat  of  the  sharp  quick  fight  success  was 
coming.  He  had  waited  long,  and  worked  hard, 
and  his  whole  soul  went  out  as  he  watched  the 
troops  cross  the  abattis  and  scale  the  works.  He 
could  have  no  thought  of  danger  then,  and  when 
all  was  over  he  turned  to  Knox  and  said,  "  The 
work  is  done,  and  well  done.  Bring  me  my  horse." 

Washington  was  not  mistaken.  The  work  was 
indeed  done.  Tarleton  early  in  the  siege  had 
dashed  out  against  Lauzun  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river  and  been  repulsed.  Cornwallis  had  been 
forced  back  steadily  into  the  town,  and  his  redoubts, 
as  soon  as  taken,  were  included  in  the  second  par 
allel.  A  sortie  to  retake  the  redoubts  failed,  and  a 
wild  attempt  to  transport  the  army  across  the  river 
was  stopped  by  a  gale  of  wind.  On  the  17th  Corn 
wallis  was  compelled  to  face  much  bloody  and  use 
less  slaughter,  or  to  surrender.  Pie  chose  the  latter 
course,  and  after  opening  negotiations  and  trying  in 
vain  to  obtain  delay,  finally  signed  the  capitulation 
and  gave  up  the  town.  The  next  day  the  troops 
marched  out  and  laid  down  their  arms.  Over  7000 
British  and  Hessian  troops  surrendered.  It  was  a 
crushing  defeat.  The  victorious  army  consisted  in 
round  numbers  of  5500  continentals,  3500  militia, 
and  7000  French,  and  they  were  backed  by  the 
French  fleet  with  entire  control  of  the  sea. 

When  Washington  had  once  reached  Yorktown 
with  his  fleet  and  army,  the  campaign  was  really  at 
an  end,  for  he  held  Cornwallis  in  an  iron  grip  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  The  masterly  part  of 


310  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

the  Yorktown  campaign  lay  in  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  brought  about,  in  the  management  of  so 
many  elements,  and  in  the  rapidity  of  movement 
which  carried  an  army  without  any  proper  supplies 
or  means  of  transportation  from  New  York  to  the 
mouth  of  Chesapeake  Bay.  The  control  of  the 
sea  had  been  the  great  advantage  of  the  British 
from  the  beginning,  and  had  enabled  them  to 
achieve  all  that  they  ever  gained.  With  these  odds 
against  him,  with  no  possibility  of  obtaining  a  fleet 
of  his  own,  Washington  saw  that  his  only  chance 
of  bringing  the  war  to  a  quick  and  successful  issue 
was  by  means  of  the  French.  It  is  difficult  to 
manage  allied  troops.  It  is  still  more  difficult  to 
manage  allied  troops  and  an  allied  fleet.  Wash 
ington  did  both  with  infinite  address,  and  won. 
The  chief  factor  of  his  success  in  this  direction  lay 
in  his  profound  personal  influence  on  all  men  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  His  courtesy  and  tact 
were  perfect,  but  he  made  no  concessions,  and 
never  stooped.  The  proudest  French  noble  who 
came  here  shrank  from  disagreement  with  the 
American  general,  and  yet  not  one  of  them  had 
anything  but  admiration  and  respect  to  express 
when  they  wrote  of  Washington  in  their  memoirs, 
diaries,  and  letters.  He  impressed  them  one  and 
all  with  a  sense  of  power  and  greatness  which 
could  not  be  disregarded.  Many  times  he  failed 
to  get  the  French  fleet  in  cooperation,  but  finally 
it  came.  Then  he  put  forth  all  his  influence  and 
all  his  address,  and  thus  he  got  De  Barras  to  the 
Chesapeake,  and  kept  De  Grasse  at  Yorktown. 


YORKTOWN.  311 

This  was  one  side  of  the  problem,  the  most  es 
sential  because  everything  hinged  on  the  fleet,  but 
by  no  means  the  most  harassing.  The  doubt  about 
the  control  of  the  sea  made  it  impossible  to  work 
steadily  for  a  sufficient  time  toward  any  one  end.  It 
was  necessary  to  have  a  plan  for  every  contingency, 
and  be  ready  to  adopt  any  one  of  several  plans  at 
short  notice.  With  a  foresight  and  judgment  that 
never  failed,  Washington  planned  an  attack  on 
New  York,  another  on  Yorktown,  and  a  third  on 
Charleston.  The  division  of  the  British  forces  gave 
him  his  opportunity  of  striking  at  one  point  with  an 
overwhelming  force,  but  there  was  always  the  possi 
bility  of  their  suddenly  reuniting.  In  the  extreme 
south  he  felt  reasonably  sure  that  Greene  would 
hold  Rawdon,  but  he  was  obliged  to  deceive  and 
amuse  Clinton,  and  at  the  same  time,  with  a  ridic 
ulously  inferior  force,  to  keep  Cornwallis  from 
marching  to  South  Carolina.  Partly  by  good  for 
tune,  partly  by  skill,  Cornwallis  was  kept  in  Vir 
ginia,  while  by  admirably  managed  feints  and 
threats  Clinton  was  held  in  New  York  in  inactivity. 
When  the  decisive  moment  came,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  control  of  the  sea  was  to  be  determined  in 
the  Chesapeake,  Washington,  overriding  all  sorts 
of  obstacles,  moved  forward,  despite  a  bankrupt 
and  inert  government,  with  a  rapidity  and  daring 
which  have  been  rarely  equalled.  It  was  a  bold 
stroke  to  leave  Clinton  behind  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Hudson,  and  only  the  quickness  with  which  it  was 
done,  and  the  careful  deception  which  had  been 


312  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

practised,  made  it  possible.  Once  at  Yorktown, 
there  was  little  more  to  do.  The  combination  was 
so  perfect,  and  the  judgment  had  been  so  sure,  that 
Cornwallis  was  crushed  as  helplessly  as  if  he  had 
been  thrown  before  the  car  of  Juggernaut.  There 
was  really  but  little  fighting,  for  there  was  no  op 
portunity  to  fight.  Washington  held  the  British 
in  a  vice,  and  the  utter  helplessness  of  Cornwallis, 
the  entire  inability  of  such  a  good  and  gallant 
soldier  even  to  struggle,  are  the  most  convincing 
proofs  of  the  military  genius  of  his  antagonist. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

PEACE. 

FORTITUDE  in  misfortune  is  more  common  than 
composure  in  the  hour  of  victory.  The  bitter  med 
icine  of  defeat,  however  unpalatable,  is  usually  ex 
tremely  sobering,  but  the  strong  new  wine  of  success 
generally  sets  the  heads  of  poor  humanity  spinning, 
and  leads  often  to  worse  results  than  folly.  The 
capture  of  Cornwallis  was  en6ugh  to  have  turned  the 
strongest  head,  for  the  moment  at  least,  but  it  had 
no  apparent  effect  upon  the  man  who  had  brought 
it  to  pass,  and  who,  more  than  any  one  else,  knew 
what  it  meant.  Unshaken  and  undismayed  in  the 
New  Jersey  winter,  and  among  the  complicated 
miseries  of  Valley  Forge,  Washington  turned  from 
the  spectacle  of  a  powerful  British  army  laying 
down  their  arms  as  coolly  as  if  he  had  merely 
fought  a  successful  skirmish,  or  repelled  a  danger 
ous  raid.  He  had  that  rare  gift,  the  attribute  of 
the  strongest  minds,  of  leaving  the  past  to  take 
care  of  itself.  He  never  fretted  over  what  could 
not  be  undone,  nor  dallied  among  pleasant  memo 
ries  while  aught  still  remained  to  do.  He  wrote  to 
Congress  in  words  of  quiet  congratulation,  through 
which  pierced  the  devout  and  solemn  sense  of  the 


314  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

great  deed  accomplished,  and  then,  while  the  salvos 
of  artillery  were  still  booming  in  his  ears,  and  the 
shouts  of  victory  were  still  rising  about  him,  he  set 
himself,  after  his  fashion,  to  care  for  the  future 
and  provide  for  the  immediate  completion  of  his 
work. 

He  wrote  to  De  Grasse,  urging  him  to  join  in  an 
immediate  movement  against  Charleston,  such  as 
he  had  already  suggested,  and  he  presented  in  the 
strongest  terms  the  opportunities  now  offered  for 
the  sudden  and  complete  ending  of  the  struggle. 
But  the  French  admiral  was  by  no  means  imbued 
with  the  tireless  and  determined  spirit  of  Wash 
ington.  He  had  had  his  fill  even  of  victory,  and 
was  so  eager  to  get  back  to  the  West  Indies,  where 
he  was  to  fall  a  victim  to  Rodney,  that  he  would 
not  even  transport  troops  to  Wilmington.  Thus 
deprived  of  the  force  which  alone  made  compre 
hensive  and  extended  movements  possible,  Wash 
ington  returned,  as  he  had  done  so  often  before,  to 
making  the  best  of  cramped  circumstances  and 
straitened  means.  He  sent  all  the  troops  he  could 
spare  to  Greene,  to  help  him  in  wresting  the  south 
ern  States  from  the  enemy,  the  work  to  which  he 
had  in  vain  summoned  De  Grasse.  This  done,  he 
prepared  to  go  north.  On  his  way  he  was  stopped 
at  Eltham  by  the  illness  and  death  of  his  wife's 
son,  John  Custis,  a  blow  which  he  felt  severely, 
and  which  saddened  the  great  victory  he  had  just 
achieved.  Still  the  business  of  the  state  could 
not  wait  on  private  grief.  He  left  the  house  of 


PEACE.  315 

mourning,  and,  pausing  for  an  instant  only  at 
Mount  Yernon,  hastened  on  to  Philadelphia.  At 
the  very  moment  of  victory,  and  while  honorable 
members  were  shaking  each  other's  hands  and  con 
gratulating  each  other  that  the  war  was  now  really 
over,  the  commander-in-chief  had  fallen  again  to 
writing  them  letters  in  the  old  strain,  and  was  once 
more  urging  them  to  keep  up  the  army,  while  he 
himself  gave  his  personal  attention  to  securing 
a  naval  force  for  the  ensuing  year,  through  the 
medium  of  Lafayette.  Nothing  was  ever  finished 
with  Washington  until  it  was  really  complete 
throughout,  and  he  had  as  little  time  for  rejoicing 
as  he  had  for  despondency  or  despair,  while  a  Brit 
ish  force  still  remained  in  the  country.  He  prob 
ably  felt  that  this  was  as  untoward  a  time  as  he 
had  ever  met  in  a  pretty  large  experience  of  un 
suitable  occasions,  for  offering  sound  advice,  but 
he  was  not  deterred  thereby  from  doing  it.  This 
time,  however,  he  was  destined  to  an  agreeable 
disappointment,  for  on  his  arrival  at  Philadelphia 
he  found  an  excellent  spirit  prevailing  in  Congress. 
That  body  was  acting  cheerfully  on  his  advice,  it 
had  filled  the  departments  of  the  government,  and 
set' on  foot  such  measures  as  it  could  to  keep  up  the 
army.  So  Washington  remained  for  some  time  at 
Philadelphia,  helping  and  counselling  Congress  in 
its  work,  and  writing  to  the  States  vigorous  letters, 
demanding  pay  and  clothing  for  the  soldiers,  ever 
uppermost  in  his  thoughts. 

But  although  Congress  was  compliant,  Washing- 


316  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

ton  could  not  convince  the  country  of  the  justice  of 
his  views,  and  of  the  continued  need  of  energetic 
exertion.  The  steady  relaxation  of  tone,  which 
the  strain  of  a  long  and  trying  war  had  produced, 
was  accelerated  by  the  brilliant  victory  of  York- 
town.  Washington  for  his  own  part  had  but  little 
trust  in  the  sense  or  the  knowledge  of  his  enemy. 
He  felt  that  Yorktown  was  decisive,  but  he  also 
thought  that  Great  Britain  would  still  struggle  on, 
and  that  her  talk  of  peace  was  very  probably  a 
mere  blind,  to  enable  her  to  gain  time,  and,  by 
taking  advantage  of  our  relaxed  and  feeble  condi 
tion,  to  strike  again  in  hope  of  winning  back  all 
that  had  been  lost.  He  therefore  continued  his 
appeals  in  behalf  of  the  army,  and  reiterated  every 
where  the  necessity  for  fresh  and  ample  prepara 
tions. 

As  late  as  May  4th  he  wrote  sharply  to  the  States 
for  men  and  money,  saying  that  the  change  of  min 
istry  was  likely  to  be  adverse  to  peace,  and  that  we 
were  being:  lulled  into  a  false  and  fatal  sense  of 

O 

security.  A  few  days  later,  on  receiving  informa 
tion  from  Sir  Guy  Carleton  of  the  address  of  the 
Commons  to  the  king  for  peace,  Washington  wrote 
to  Congress  :  "  For  my  own  part,  I  view  our  situa 
tion  as  such  that,  instead  of  relaxing,  we  ought  to 
improve  the  present  moment  as  the  most  favorable 
to  our  wishes.  The  British  nation  appear  to  me  to 
be  staggered,  and  almost  ready  to  sink  beneath  the 
accumulating  weight  of  debt  and  misfortune.  If 
we  follow  the  blow  with  vigor  and  energy,  I  think 
the  game  is  our  own." 


PEACE.  317 

Again  he  wrote  in  July :  "  Sir  Guy  Carleton  is 
using  every  art  to  soothe  and  lull  our  people  into 
a  state  of  security.  Admiral  Digby  is  capturing 
all  our  vessels,  and  suffocating  as  fast  as  possible 
in  prison-ships  all  our  seamen  who  will  not  enlist 
into  the  service  of  his  Britannic  Majesty ;  and 
Haldimand,  with  his  savage  allies,  is  scalping  and 
burning  on  the  frontiers."  Facts  always  were  the 
object  of  Washington's  first  regard,  and  while 
gentlemen  on  all  sides  were  talking  of  peace,  war 
was  going  on,  and  he  could  not  understand  the 
supineness  which  would  permit  our  seamen  to  be 
suffocated,  and  our  borderers  scalped,  because  some 
people  thought  the  war  ought  to  be  and  practically 
was  over.  While  the  other  side  was  fighting,  he 
wished  to  be  fighting  too.  A  month  later  he  wrote 
to  Greene  :  "  From  the  former  infatuation,  duplic 
ity,  and  perverse  system  of  British  policy,  I  confess 
I  am  induced  to  doubt  everything,  to  suspect  every 
thing."  He  could  say  heartily  with  the  Trojan 
priest,  "  Quicquid  id  est  timeo  Danaos  et  dona  fe- 
rentes."  Yet  again,  a  month  later  still,  when  the 
negotiations  were  really  going  forward  in  Paris,  he 
wrote  to  McHenry  :  "  If  we  are  wise,  let  us  pre 
pare  for  the  worst.  There  is  nothing  which  will 
so  soon  produce  a  speedy  and  honorable  peace  as  a 
state  of  preparation  for  war ;  and  we  must  either 
do  this,  or  lay  our  account  to  patch  up  an  inglori 
ous  peace,  after  all  the  toil,  blood,  and  treasure  we 
have  spent." 

No  man  had  done  and  given  so  much  as  Wash- 


318  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

ington,  and  at  the  same  time  no  other  man  had  his 
love  of  thoroughness,  and  his  indomitable  fighting 
temper.  He  found  few  sympathizers,  his  words  fell 
upon  deaf  ears,  and  he  was  left  to  struggle  on  and 
maintain  his  ground  as  best  he  might,  without  any 
substantial  backing.  As  it  turned  out,  England 
was  more  severely  wounded  than  he  dared  to  hope, 
and  her  desire  for  peace  was  real.  But  Washing 
ton's  distrust  and  the  active  policy  which  he  urged 
were,  in  the  conditions  of  the  moment,  perfectly 
sound,  both  in  a  military  and  a  political  point  of 
view.  It  made  no  real  difference,  however,  whether 
he  was  right  or  wrong  in  his  opinion.  He  could 
not  get  what  he  wanted,  and  he  was  obliged  to  drag 
through  another  year,  fettered  in  his  military  move 
ments,  and  oppressed  with  anxiety  for  the  future. 
He  longed  to  drive  the  British  from  New  York, 
and  was  forced  to  content  himself,  as  so  often  be 
fore,  with  keeping  his  army  in  existence.  It  was  a 
trying  time,  and  fruitful  in  nothing  but  anxious 
forebodings.  All  the  fighting  was  confined  to  skir 
mishes  of  outposts,  and  his  days  were  consumed  in 
vain  efforts  to  obtain  help  from  the  States,  while  he 
watched  with  painful  eagerness  the  current  of  events 
in  Europe,  down  which  the  fortunes  of  his  country 
were  feebly  drifting. 

Among  the  petty  incidents  of  the  year  there  was 
one  which,  in  its  effects,  gained  an  international 
importance,  which  has  left  a  deep  stain  upon  the 
English  arms,  and  which  touched  Washington 
deeply.  Captain  Huddy,  an  American  officer,  was 


PEACE.  319 

captured  in  a  skirmish  and  carried  to  New  York, 
where  he  was  placed  in  confinement.  Thence  he 
was  taken  on  April  12th  by  a  party  of  Tories  in 
the  British  service,  commanded  by  Captain  Lippin- 
cott,  and  hanged  in  the  broad  light  of  day  on  the 
heights  near  Middletown.  Testimony  and  affidavits 
to  the  fact,  which  was  never  questioned,  were  duly 
gathered  and  laid  before  Washington.  The  deed 
was  one  of  wanton  barbarity,  for  which  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  parallel  in  the  annals  of  modern 
warfare.  The  authors  of  this  brutal  murder,  to 
our  shame  be  it  said,  were  of  American  birth,  but 
they  were  fighting  for  the  crown  and  wore  the  Brit 
ish  uniform.  England,  which  for  generations  has 
deafened  the  world  with  paeans  of  praise  for  her 
own  love  of  fair  play  and  for  her  generous  human 
ity,  stepped  in  here  and  threw  the  mantle  of  her 
protection  over  these  cowardly  hangmen.  It  has 
not  been  uncommon  for  wild  North  American  sav 
ages  to  deliver  up  criminals  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
law,  but  English  ministers  and  officers  condoned 
the  murder  of  Huddy,  and  sheltered  his  murderers. 
When  the  case  was  laid  before  Washington  it 
stirred  him  to  the  deepest  wrath.  He  submitted 
the  facts  to  twenty-five  of  his  general  officers,  who 
unanimously  advised  what  he  was  himself  deter 
mined  upon,  instant  retaliation.  He  wrote  at  once 
to  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  and  informed  him  that  unless 
the  murderers  were  given  up  he  should  be  compelled 
to  retaliate.  Carleton  replied  that  a  court-martial 
was  ordered,  and  some  attempt  was  made  to  recrim- 


320  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

mate ;  but  Washington  pressed  on  in  the  path  he 
had  marked  out,  and  had  an  English  officer  selected 
by  lot  and  held  in  close  confinement  to  await  the 
action  of  the  enemy.  These  sharp  measures  brought 
the  British,  as  nothing  else  could  have  done,  to  some 
sense  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime  that  had  been 
committed.  Sir  Guy  Caiieton  wrote  in  remon 
strance,  and  Washington  replied :  "  Ever  since  the 
commencement  of  this  unnatural  war  my  conduct 
has  borne  invariable  testimony  against  those  inhu 
man  excesses,  which,  in  too  many  instances,  have 
marked  its  progress.  With  respect  to  a  late  trans 
action,  to  which  I  presume  your  excellency  alludes, 
I  have  already  expressed  my  resolution,  a  resolution 
formed  on  the  most  mature  deliberation,  and  from 
which  I  shall  not  recede."  The  affair  dragged 
along,  purposely  protracted  by  the  British,  and  the 
court-martial  on  a  technical  point  acquitted  Lippin- 
cott.  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  however,  who  really  was 
deeply  indignant  at  the  outrage,  wrote,  expressing 
his  abhorrence,  disavowed  Lippincott,  and  promised 
a  further  inquiry.  This  placed  Washington  in  a 
very  trying  position,  more  especially  as  his  human 
ity  was  touched  by  the  situation  of  the  unlucky 
hostage.  The  fatal  lot  had  fallen  upon  a  mere  boy, 
Captain  Asgill,  who  was  both  amiable  and  popular, 
and  Washington  was  beset  with  appeals  in  his  be 
half,  for  Lady  Asgill  moved  heaven  and  earth  to 
save  her  son.  She  interested  the  French  court, 
and  Vergennes  made  a  special  request  that  Asgill 
should  be  released.  Even  Washington's  own  offi- 


PEACE.  321 

cers,  notably  Hamilton,  sought  to  influence  him, 
and  begged  him  to  recede.  In  these  difficult  cir 
cumstances  he  hesitated,  and  asked  instructions 
from  Congress.  He  wrote  to  Duane  in  September  : 
"  While  retaliation  was  apparently  necessary,  how 
ever  disagreeable  in  itself,  I  had  no  repugnance  to 
the  measure.  But  when  the  end  proposed  by  it  is 
answered  by  a  disavowal  of  the  act,  by  a  dissolution 
of  the  board  of  refugees,  and  by  a  promise  (whether 
with  or  without  meaning  to  comply  with  it,  I  shall 
not  determine)  that  further  inquisition  should  be 
made  into  the  matter,  I  thought  it  incumbent  upon 
me,  before  I  proceeded  any  farther  in  the  matter,  to 
have  the  sense  of  Congress,  who  had  most  explicit!}' 
approved  and  impliedly  indeed  ordered  retaliation 
to  take  place.  To  this  hour  I  am  held  in  dark 
ness." 

He  did  not  long  remain  in  doubt.  The  fact  was 
that  the  public,  as  is  commonly  the  case,  had  for 
gotten  the  original  crime  and  saw  only  the  misery 
of  the  man  who  was  to  pay  the  just  penalty,  and 
who  was,  in  this  instance,  an  innocent  and  vicari 
ous  sufferer.  It  was  difficult  to  refuse  Yergennes, 
and  Congress,  glad  of  the  excuse  and  anxious  to 
oblige  their  allies,  ordered  the  release  of  Asgill. 
That  Washington,  touched  by  the  unhappy  condi 
tion  of  his  prisoner,  did  not  feel  relieved  by  the 
result,  it  would  be  absurd  to  suppose.  But  he  was 
by  no  means  satisfied,  for  the  murderous  wrong  that 
had  been  done  rankled  in  his  breast.  He  wrote  to 
Vergennes :  "  Captain  Asgill  has  been  released,  and 


322  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

is  at  perfect  liberty  to  return  to  the  arms  of  an 
affectionate  parent,  whose  pathetic  address  to  your 
Excellency  could  not  fail  of  interesting  every  feel 
ing  heart  in  her  behalf.  I  have  no  right  to  assume 
any  particular  merit  from  the  lenient  manner  in 
which  this  disagreeable  affair  has  terminated." 

There  is  a  perfect  honesty  about  this  which  is 
very  wholesome.  He  had  been  freely  charged  with 
cruelty,  and  had  regarded  the  accusation  with  in 
difference.  Now,  when  it  was  easy  for  him  to  have 
taken  the  glory  of  mercy  by  simply  keeping  silent, 
he  took  pains  to  avow  that  the  leniency  was  not 
due  to  him.  He  was  not  satisfied,  and  no  one 
should  believe  that  he  was,  even  if  the  admission 
seemed  to  justify  the  charge  of  cruelty.  If  he  erred 
at  all  it  was  in  not  executing  some  British  officer  at 
the  very  start,  unless  Lippincott  had  been  given  up 
within  a  limited  time.  As  it  was,  after  delay  was 
once  permitted,  it  is  hard  to  see  how  he  could  have 
acted  otherwise  than  he  did,  but  Washington  was 
not  in  the  habit  of  receding  from  a  fixed  purpose, 
and  being  obliged  to  do  so  in  this  case  troubled 
him,  for  he  knew  that  he  did  well  to  be  angry. 
But  the  frankness  of  the  avowal  to  Vergennes  is  a 
good  example  of  his  entire  honesty  and  absolute 
moral  fearlessness. 

The  matter,  however,  which  most  filled  his  heart 
and  mind  during  these  weary  days  of  waiting  and 
doubt  was  the  condition  and  the  future  of  his  soldiers. 
To  those  persons  who  have  suspected  or  suggested 
that  Washington  was  cold-blooded  and  unmindful  of 


PEACE.  323 

others,  the  letters  he  wrote  in  regard  to  the  soldiers 
may  be  commended.  The  man  whose  heart  was 
wrung  by  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  people  on  the 
Virginian  frontier,  in  the  days  of  the  old  French 
war,  never  in  fact  changed  his  nature.  Fierce 
in  fight,  passionate  and  hot  when  his  anger  was 
stirred,  his  love  and  sympathy  were  keen  and 
strong  toward  his  army.  His  heart  went  out  to 
the  brave  men  who  had  followed  him,  loved  him, 
and  never  swerved  in  their  loyalty  to  him  and  to 
their  country.  Washington's  affection  for  his  men, 
and  their  devotion  to  him,  had  saved  the  cause  of 
American  independence  more  often  than  strategy 
or  daring.  Now,  when  the  war  was  practically 
over,  his  influence  with  both  officers  and  soldiers 
was  destined  to  be  put  to  its  severest  tests. 

The  people  of  the  American  colonies  were  self- 
governing  in  the  extremest  sense,  that  is,  they  were 
accustomed  to  very  little  government  interference  of 
any  sort.  They  were  also  poor  and  entirely  unused 
to  war.  Suddenly  they  found  themselves  plunged 
into  a  bitter  and  protracted  conflict  with  the  most 
powerful  of  civilized  nations.  In  the  first  flush  of 
excitement,  patriotic  enthusiasnTsupplied  many  de 
fects  ;  but  as  time  wore  on,  and  year  after  year 
passed,  and  the  whole  social  and  political  fabric  was 
shaken,  the  moral  tone  of  the  people  relaxed.  In 
such  a  struggle,  coming  upon  an  unprepared  people 
of  the  habits  and  in  the  circumstances  of  the  colo 
nists,  this  relaxation  was  inevitable.  It  was  like 
wise  inevitable  that,  as  the  war  continued,  there 


324  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

should  be  in  both  national  and  state  governments, 
and  in  all  directions,  many  shortcomings  and  many 
lamentable  errors.  But  for  the  treatment  accorded 
the  army,  no  such  excuse  can  be  made,  and  no  suf 
ficient  explanation  can  be  offered.  There  was 
throughout  the  colonies  an  inborn  and  a  carefully 
cultivated  dread  of  standing  armies  and  military 
power.  But  this  very  natural  feeling  was  turned 
most  unreasonably  against  our  own  army,  and  car 
ried  in  that  direction  to  the  verge  of  insanity. 
This  jealousy  of  military  power  indeed  pursued 
Washington  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the 
Revolution.  It  cropped  out  as  soon  as  he  was 
appointed,  and  came  up  in  one  form  or  another 
whenever  he  was  obliged  to  take  strong  measures. 
Even  at  the  very  end,  after  he  had  borne  the  cause 
through  to  triumph,  Congress  was  driven  almost  to 
frenzy  because  Vergennes  proposed  to  commit  the 
disposition  of  a  French  subsidy  to  the  commander- 
in-chief. 

If  this  feeling  could  show  itself  toward  Wash 
ington,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  that  it  was  not  re 
strained  toward  his  officers  and  men,  and  the  treat 
ment  of  the  soldiers  by  Congress  and  by  the  States 
was  not  only  ungrateful  to  the  last  degree,  but 
was  utterly  unpardonable.  Again  and  again  the 
menace  of  immediate  ruin  and  the  stern  demands 
of  Washington  alone  extorted  the  most  grudging 
concessions,  and  saved  the  army  from  dissolution. 
The  soldiers  had  every  reason  to  think  that  noth 
ing  but  personal  fear  could  obtain  the  barest  con- 


PEACE.  325 

sideration  from  the  civil  power.  In  this  frame  of 
mind,  they  saw  the  war  which  they  had  fought 
and  won  drawing  to  a  close  with  no  prospect  of 
either  provision  or  reward  for  them,  and  every 
indication  that  they  would  be  disbanded  when  they 
were  no  longer  needed,  and  left  in  many  cases  to 
beggary  and  want.  In  the  inaction  consequent 
upon  the  victory  at  Yorktown,  they  had  ample 
time  to  reflect  upon  these  facts,  and  their  reflec 
tions  were  of  such  a  nature  that  the  situation  soon 
became  dangerous.  Washington,  who  had  strug 
gled  in  season  and  out  of  season  for  justice  to  the 
soldiers,  labored  more  zealously  than  ever  during 
all  this  period,  aided  vigorously  by  Hamilton,  who 
was  now  in  Congress.  Still  nothing  was  done,  and 
in  October,  1782,  he  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  War 
in  words  warm  with  indignant  feeling :  "  While 
I  premise  that  no  one  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  ap 
pears  opposed  to  the  principle  of  reducing  the  army 
as  circumstances  may  require,  yet  I  cannot  help 
fearing  the  result  of  the  measure  in  contemplation, 
under  present  circumstances,  when  I  see  such  a  num 
ber  of  men,  goaded  by  a  thousand  stings  of  reflec 
tion  on  the  past  and  of  anticipation  on  the  future, 
about  to  be  turned  into  the  world,  soured  by  pen 
ury  and  what  they  call  the  ingratitude  of  the  pub 
lic,  involved  in  debts,  without  one  farthing  of  money 
to  carry  them  home  after  having  spent  the  flower 
of  their  days,  and  many  of  them  their  patrimonies, 
in  establishing  the  freedom  and  independence  of 
their  country,  and  suffered  everything  that  human 


326  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

nature  is  capable  of  enduring  on  this  side  of  death. 
.  .  .  You  may  rely  upon  it,  the  patriotism  and  long- 
suffering  of  this  army  are  almost  exhausted,  and 
that  there  never  was  so  great  a  spirit  of  discontent 
as  at  this  instant.  While  in  the  field  I  think  it 
may  be  kept  from  breaking  into  acts  of  outrage ; 
but  when  we  retire  into  winter-quarters,  unless  the 
storm  is  previously  dissipated,  I  cannot  be  at  ease 
respecting  the  consequences.  It  is  high  time  for  a 
peace." 

These  were  grave  words,  coming  from  such  a 
man  as  Washington,  but  they  passed  unheeded. 
Congress  and  the  States  went  blandly  along  as 
if  everything  was  all  right,  and  as  if  the  army 
had  no  grievances.  But  the  soldiers  thought  dif 
ferently.  "  Dissatisfactions  rose  to  a  great  and 
alarming  height,  and  combinations  among  officers 
to  resign  at  given  periods  in  a  body  were  begin 
ning  to  take  place."  The  outlook  was  so  threat 
ening  that  Washington,  who  had  intended  to  go 
to  Mount  Vernon,  remained  in  camp,  and  by  man 
agement  and  tact  thwarted  these  combinations  and 
converted  these  dangerous  movements  into  an  ad 
dress  to  Congress  from  the  officers,  asking  for 
half-pay,  arrearages,  and  some  other  equally  proper 
concessions.  Still  Congress  did  not  stir.  Some 
indefinite  resolutions  were  passed,  but  nothing  was 
done  as  to  the  commutation  of  half-pay  into  a  fixed 
sum,  and  after  such  a  display  of  indifference  the  dis 
satisfaction  increased  rapidly,  and  the  army  became 
more  and  more  restless.  In  March  a  call  was  is- 


PEACE.  ^ 

sued  for  a  meeting  of  officers,  and  an  anonymous 
address,  written  with  much  skill,  —  the  work,  as 
afterwards  appeared,  of  Major  John  Armstrong,  — 
was  published  at  the  same  time.  The  address 
was  well  calculated  to  inflame  the  passions  of  the 
troops ;  it  advised  a  resort  to  force,  and  was  scat 
tered  broadcast  through  the  camp.  The  army  was 
now  in  a  ferment,  and  the  situation  was  full  of 
peril.  A  weak  man  would  have  held  his  peace  ; 
a  rash  one  would  have  tried  to  suppress  the  meet 
ing.  Washington  did  neither,  but  quietly  took 
control  of  the  whole  movement  himself.  In  gen 
eral  orders  he  censured  the  call  and  the  address  as 
irregular,  and  then  appointed  a  time  and  place  for 
the  meeting.  Another  anonymous  address  there 
upon  appeared,  quieter  in  tone,  but  congratulat 
ing  the  army  on  the  recognition  accorded  by  the 
com  m  ander-in-chief . 

When  the  officers  assembled,  Washington  arose 
with  a  manuscript  in  his  hand,  and  as  he  took  out 
his  glasses  said,  simply,  "  You  see,  gentlemen,  I 
have  grown  both  blind  and  gray  in  your  service." 
His  address  was  brief,  calm,  and  strong.  The  clear, 
vigorous  sentences  were  charged  with  meaning  and 
with  deep  feeling.  He  exhorted  them  one  and  all, 
both  officers  and  men,  to  remain  loyal  and  obedient, 
true  to  their  glorious  past  and  to  their  country. 
He  appealed  to  their  patriotism,  and  promised  them 
that  which  they  had  always  had,  his  own  earnest 
support  in  obtaining  justice  from  Congress.  When 
he  had  finished  he  quietly  withdrew.  The  officers 


328  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

were  deeply  moved  by  his  words,  and  his  influence 
prevailed.  Resolutions  were  passed,  reiterating  the 
demands  of  the  army,  but  professing  entire  faith 
in  the  government.  This  time  Congress  listened, 
and  the  measures  granting  half-pay  in  commuta 
tion  and  certain  other  requests  were  passed.  Thus 
this  very  serious  danger  was  averted,  not  by  the 
reluctant  action  of  Congress,  but  by  the  wisdom 
and  strength  of  the  general,  who  was  loved  by  his 
soldiers  after  a  fashion  that  few  conquerors  could 
boast. 

Underlying  all  these  general  discontents,  there 
was,  besides,  a  well-defined  movement,  which  saw 
a  solution  of  all  difficulties  and  a  redress  of  all 
wrongs  in  a  radical  change  of  the  form  of  govern 
ment,  and  in  the  elevation  of  Washington  to  su 
preme  power.  This  party  was  satisfied  that  the 
existing  system  was  a  failure,  and  that  it  was  not 
and  could  not  be  made  either  strong,  honest,  or  re 
spectable.  The  obvious  relief  was  in  some  kind  of 
monarchy,  with  a  large  infusion  of  the  one-man 
power;  and  it  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that 
the  one  man  could  be  no  other  than  the  commander- 
in-chief.  In  May,  1782,  when  the  feeling  in  the 
army  had  risen  very  high,  this  party  of  reform 
brought  their  ideas  before  Washington  through  an 
old  and  respected  friend  of  his,  Colonel  Nicola. 
The  colonel  set  forth  very  clearly  the  failure  and 
shortcomings  of  the  existing  government,  argued 
in  favor  of  the  substitution  of  something  much 
stronger,  and  wound  up  by  hinting  very  plainly 


PEACE.  329 

that  his  correspondent  was  the  man  for  the  crisis 
and  the  proper  savior  of  society.  The  letter  was 
forcible  and  well  written,  and  Colonel  Nicola  was 
a  man  of  character  and  standing.  It  could  not  be 
passed  over  lightly  or  in  silence,  and  Washington 
replied  as  follows  :  — 

"  With  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  astonishment, 
I  have  read  with  attention  the  sentiments  you  have 
submitted  to  my  perusal.  Be  assured,  sir,  no  occur 
rence  in  the  course  of  the  war  has  given  me  more 
painful  sensations  than  your  information  of  there 
being  such  ideas  existing  in  the  army  as  you  have 
expressed,  and  [which]  I  must  view  with  abhorrence 
and  reprehend  with  severity.  For  the  present,  the 
communication  of  them  will  rest  in  my  own  bosom, 
unless  some  further  agitation  of  the  matter  shall 
make  a  disclosure  necessary.  I  am  much  at  a  loss 
to  conceive  what  part  of  my  conduct  could  have 
given  encouragement  to  an  address  which  seems  to 
me  big  with  the  greatest  mischiefs  that  can  befall 
my  country.  If  I  am  not  deceived  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  myself,  you  could  not  have  found  a  per 
son  to  whom  your  schemes  are  more  disagreeable. 
At  the  same  time,  in  justice  to  my  own  feelings, 
I  must  add  that  no  man  possesses  a  more  sincere 
wish  to  see  justice  done  to  the  army  than  I  do ;  and 
as  far  as  my  power  and  influence  in  a  constitutional 
way  extend,  they  shall  be  employed  to  the  utmost 
of  my  abilities  to  effect  it,  should  there  be  any 
occasion.  Let  me  conjure  you,  then,  if  you  have 
any  regard  for  your  country,  concern  for  yourself 


330  GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

or  posterity,  or  respect  for  me.,  to  banish  these 
thoughts  from  your  mind,  and  never  communicate, 
as  from  yourself  or  any  one  else,  a  sentiment  of  the 
like  nature." 

This  simple  but  exceedingly  plain  letter  checked 
the  whole  movement  at  once ;  but  the  feeling  of 
hostility  to  the  existing  system  of  government  and 
of  confidence  in  Washington  increased  steadily 
through  the  summer  and  winter.  When  the  next 
spring  had  come  round,  and  the  "Newburgh  ad 
dresses  "  had  been  published,  the  excitement  was 
at  fever  heat.  All  the  army  needed  was  a  leader. 
It  was  as  easy  for  Washington  to  have  grasped 
supreme  power  then,  as  it  would  have  been  for 
Caesar  to  have  taken  the  crown  from  Antony  upon 
the  Lupercal.  He  repelled  Nicola's  suggestion 
with  quiet  reproof,  and  took  the  actual  movement, 
when  it  reared  its  head,  into  his  own  hands  and 
turned  it  into  other  channels.  This  incident  has 
been  passed  over  altogether  too  carelessly  by  his 
torians  and  biographers.  It  has  generally  been 
used  merely  to  show  the  general  nobility  of  Wash 
ington's  sentiments,  and  no  proper  stress  has  been 
laid  upon  the  facts  of  the  time  which  gave  birth 
to  such  an  idea  and  such  a  proposition.  It  would 
have  been  a  perfectly  feasible  thing  at  that  par 
ticular  moment  to  have  altered  the  frame  of  gov 
ernment  and  placed  the  successful  soldier  in  pos 
session  of  supreme  power.  The  notion  of  kingly 
government  was,  of  course,  entirely  familiar  to 
everybody,  and  had  in  itself  nothing  repulsive. 


PEACE.  331 

The  confederation  was  disintegrated,  the  States 
were  demoralized,  and  the  whole  social  and  politi 
cal  life  was  weakened.  The  army  was  the  one 
coherent,  active,  and  thoroughly  organized  body  in 
the  country.  Six  years  of  war  had  turned  them 
from  militia  into  seasoned  veterans,  and  they  stood 
armed  and  angry,  ready  to  respond  to  the  call  of 
the  great  leader  to  whom  they  were  entirely  de 
voted.  When  the  English  troops  were  once  with 
drawn,  there  was  nothing  on  the  continent  that 
could  have  stood  against  them.  If  they  had  moved, 
they  would  have  been  everywhere  supported  by 
their  old  comrades  who  had  returned  to  the  ranks 
of  civil  life,  by  all  the  large  class  who  wanted  peace 
and  order  in  the  quickest  and  surest  way,  and  by 
the  timid  and  tired  generally.  There  would  have 
been  in  fact  no  serious  opposition,  probably  because 
there  would  have  been  no  means  of  sustaining  it. 

The  absolute  feebleness  of  the  general  govern 
ment  was  shown  a  few  weeks  later,  when  a  recently 
recruited  regiment  of  Pennsylvania  troops  mu 
tinied,  and  obliged  Congress  to  leave  Philadelphia, 
unable  either  to  defend  themselves  or  procure  de 
fence  from  the  State.  This  mutiny  was  put  down 
suddenly  and  effectively  by  Washington,  very 
wroth  at  the  insubordination  of  raw  troops,  who  had 
neither  fought  nor  suffered.  Yet  even  such  muti 
neers  as  these  would  have  succeeded  in  a  large  meas 
ure,  had  it  not  been  for  Washington,  and  one  can 
easily  imagine  from  this  incident  the  result  of  dis 
ciplined  and  well-planned  action  on  the  part  of  the 


832  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

army  led  by  their  great  chief.  In  that  hour  of 
debility  and  relaxation,  a  military  seizure  of  the 
government  and  the  erection  of  some  form  of  mon 
archy  would  not  have  been  difficult.  Whether  such 
a  change  would  have  lasted  is  another  question,  but 
there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  at  the  moment  it 
might  have  been  effected.  Washington,  however, 
not  only  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
scheme,  but  he  used  the  personal  loyalty  which 
might  have  raised  him  to  supreme  power  to  check 
all  dangerous  movements  and  put  in  motion  the 
splendid  and  unselfish  patriotism  for  which  the 
army  was  conspicuous,  and  which  underlay  all  their 
irritations  and  discontents. 

The  obvious  view  of  Washington's  action  in  this 
crisis  as  a  remarkable  exhibition  of  patriotism  is 
at  best  somewhat  superficial.  In  a  man  in  any 
way  less  great,  the  letter  of  refusal  to  Nicola  and 
the  treatment  of  the  opportunity  presented  at  the 
time  of  the  Newburgh  addresses  would  have  been 
fine  in  a  high  degree.  In  Washington  they  were 
not  so  extraordinary,  for  the  situation  offered  him 
no  temptation.  Carlyle  was  led  to  think  slight 
ingly  of  Washington,  one  may  believe,  because  he 
did  not  seize  the  tottering  government  with  a 
strong  hand,  and  bring  order  out  of  chaos  on  the 
instant.  But  this  is  a  woful  misunderstanding  of 
the  man.  To  put  aside  a  crown  for  love  of  coun 
try  is  noble,  but  to  look  down  upon  such  an  op 
portunity  indicates  a  much  greater  loftiness  and 
strength  of  mind.  Washington  was  wholly  free 


PEACE.  333 

from  the  vulgar  ambition  of  the  usurper,  and  the 
desire  of  mere  personal  aggrandizement  found  no 
place  in  his  nature.  His  ruling  passion  was  the 
passion  for  success,  and  for  thorough  and  complete 
success.  What  he  could  not  bear  was  the  least 
shadow  of  failure.  To  have  fought  such  a  war 
to  a  victorious  finish,  and  then  turned  it  to  his 
own  advantage,  would  have  been  to  him  failure  of 
the  meanest  kind.  He  fought  to  free  the  colo 
nies  from  England,  and  make  them  independent, 
not  to  play  the  part  of  a  Ca?sar  or  a  Cromwell  in 
the  wreck  and  confusion  of  civil  war.  He  flung 
aside  the  suggestion  of  supreme  power,  not  simply 
as  dishonorable  and  unpatriotic,  but  because  such 
a  result  would  have  defeated  the  one  great  and 
noble  object  at  which  he  aimed.  Nor  did  he  act 
in  this  way  through  any  indolent  shrinking  from 
the  great  task  of  making  what  he  had  won  worth 
winning,  by  crushing  the  forces  of  anarchy  and 
separation,  and  bringing  order  and  unity  out  of 
confusion.  From  the  surrender  of  Yorktown  to 
the  day  of  his  retirement  from  the  Presidency,  he 
worked  unceasingly  to  establish  union  and  strong 
government  in  the  country  he  had  made  indepen 
dent.  He  accomplished  this  great  labor  more  suc 
cessfully  by  honest  and  lawful  methods  than  if 
he  had  taken  the  path  of  the  strong-handed  savior 
of  society,  and  his  work  in  this  field  did  more  for 
the  welfare  of  his  country  than  all  his  battles.  To 
have  restored  order  at  the  head  of  the  army  was 
much  easier  than  to  effect  it  in  the  slow  and  law- 


334  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

abiding  fashion  which  he  adopted.  To  have  re 
fused  supreme  rule,  and  then  to  have  effected  in 
the  spirit  and  under  the  forms  of  free  government 
all  and  more  than  the  most  brilliant  of  military 
chiefs  could  have  achieved  by  absolute  power,  is  a 
glory  which  belongs  to  Washington  alone. 

Nevertheless,  at  that  particular  juncture  it  was, 
as  he  himself  had  said,  "  high  time  for  a  peace." 
The  danger  at  Newburgh  had  been  averted  by  his 
commanding  influence  and  the  patriotic  conduct  of 
the  army.  But  it  had  been  averted  only,  not  re 
moved.  The  snake  was  scotched,  not  killed.  The 
finishing  stroke  was  still  needed  in  the  form  of  an 
end  to  hostilities,  and  it  was  therefore  fortunate 
for  the  United  States  that  a  fortnight  later,  on 
March  23d,  news  came  that  a  general  treaty  of 
peace  had  been  signed.  This  final  consummation 
of  his  work,  in  addition  to  the  passage  by  Congress 
of  the  half-pay  commutation  and  the  settlement  of 
the  army  accounts,  filled  Washington  with  deep 
rejoicing.  He  felt  that  in  a  short  time,  a  few 
weeks  at  most,  he  would  be  free  to  withdraw  to  the 
quiet  life  at  Mount  Vernon  for  which  he  longed. 
But  public  bodies  move  slowly,  and  one  delay  after 
another  occurred  to  keep  him  still  in  the  harness. 
He  chafed  under  the  postponement,  but  it  was  not 
possible  to  him  to  remain  idle  even  when  he 
awaited  in  almost  daily  expectation  the  hour  of 
dismissal.  He  saw  with  the  instinctive  glance  of 
statesmanship  that  the  dangerous  point  in  the 
treaty  of  peace  was  in  the  provisions  as  to  the 


PEACE.  335 

western  posts  on  the  one  side,  and  those  relating 
to  British  debts  on  the  other.  A  month  therefore 
had  not  passed  before  he  brought  to  the  attention 
of  Congress  the  importance  of  getting  immediate 
possession  of  those  posts,  and  a  little  later  he  suc 
ceeded  in  having  Steuben  sent  out  as  a  special 
envoy  to  obtain  their  surrender.  The  mission  was 
vain,  as  he  had  feared.  He  was  not  destined  to  ex 
tract  this  thorn  for  many  years,  and  then  only  after 
many  trials  and  troubles.  Soon  afterward  he  made 
a  journey  with  Governor  Clinton  to  Ticonderoga, 
and  along  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  "  to  wear 
away  the  time,"  as  he  wrote  to  Congress.  He  wore 
away  time  to  more  purpose  than  most  people,  for 
where  he  travelled  he  observed  closely,  and  his  ob 
servations  were  lessons  which  he  never  forgot.  On 
this  trip  he  had  the  western  posts  and  the  Indians 
always  in  mind,  and  familiarized  himself  with  the 
conditions  of  a  part  of  the  country  where  these 
matters  were  of  great  importance. 

On  his  return  he  went  to  Princeton,  where  Con 
gress  had  been  sitting  since  their  flight  from  the 
mutiny  which  he  had  recently  suppressed,  and 
where  a  house  had  been  provided  for  his  use.  He 
remained  there  two  months,  aiding  Congress  in 
their  work.  During  the  spring  he  had  been  en 
gaged  on  the  matter  of  a  peace  establishment,  and 
he  now  gave  Congress  elaborate  and  well-matured 
advice  on  that  question,  and  on  those  of  public 
lands,  western  settlement,  and  the  best  Indian  policy. 
In  all  these  directions  his  views  were  clear,  far- 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

sighted,  and  wise.  He  saw  that  in  these  questions 
was  involved  much  of  the  future  development  and 
wellbeing  of  the  country,  and  he  treated  them  with 
a  precision  and  an  easy  mastery  which  showed  the 
thought  he  had  given  to  the  new  problems  which 
now  were  coming  to  the  front.  Unluckily,  he  was 
so  far  ahead,  both  in  knowledge  and  perception,  of 
the  body  with  which  he  dealt,  that  he  could  get 
little  or  nothing  done,  and  in  September  he  wrote 
in  plain  but  guarded  terms  of  the  incapacity  of  the 
lawmakers.  The  people  were  not  yet  ripe  for  his 
measures,  and  he  was  forced  to  bide  his  time,  and 
see  the  injuries  caused  by  indifference  and  short 
sightedness  work  themselves  out.  Gradually,  how 
ever,  the  absolutely  necessary  business  was  brought 
to  an  end.  Then  Washington  issued  a  circular 
letter  to  the  governors  of  the  States,  which  was 
one  of  the  ablest  he  ever  wrote,  and  full  of  the 
profoundest  statesmanship,  and  he  also  sent  out  a 
touching  address  of  farewell  to  the  army,  eloquent 
with  wisdom  and  with  patriotism. 

From  Princeton  he  went  to  West  Point,  where 
the  army  that  still  remained  in  service  was  stationed. 
Thence  he  moved  to  Harlem,  and  on  November 
25th  the  British  army  departed,  and  Washington, 
with  his  troops,  accompanied  by  Governor  Clinton 
and  some  regiments  of  local  militia,  marched  in  and 
took  possession.  This  was  the  outward  sign  that 
the  war  was  over,  and  that  American  independence 
had  been  won.  Carleton  feared  that  the  entry  of 
the  American  army  might  be  the  signal  for  con- 


PEACE.  337 

fusion  and  violence,  in  which  the  Tory  inhabitants 
would  suffer ;  but  everything  passed  off  with  perfect 
tranquillity  and  good  order,  and  in  the  evening 
Clinton  gave  a  public  dinner  to  the  commander-in- 
chief  and  the  officers  of  the  army. 

All  was  now  over,  and  Washington  prepared  to 
go  to  Annapolis  and  lay  down  his  commission.  On 
December  4th  his  officers  assembled  in  Fraunces' 
Tavern  to  bid  him  farewell.  As  he  looked  about 
on  his  faithful  friends,  his  usual  self-command  de 
serted  him,  and  he  could  not  control  his  voice. 
Taking  a  glass  of  wine,  he  lifted  it  up,  and  said 
simply,  "  With  a  heart  full  of  love  and  gratitude 
I  now  take  my  leave  of  you,  most  devoutly  wishing 
that  your  latter  days  may  be  as  prosperous  and 
happy  as  your  former  ones  have  been  glorious  and 
honorable."  The  toast  was  drunk  in  silence,  and 
then  Washington  added,  "  I  cannot  come  to  each 
of  you  and  take  my  leave,  but  shall  be  obliged  if 
you  will  come  and  take  me  by  the  hand."  One  by 
one  they  approached,  and  Washington  grasped  the 
hand  of  each  man  and  embraced  him.  His  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  and  he  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak.  In  silence  he  bade  each  and  all  farewell, 
and  then,  accompanied  by  his  officers,  walked  to 
Whitehall  Ferry.  Entering  his  barge,  the  word 
was  given,  and  as  the  oars  struck  the  water  he 
stood  up  and  lifted  his  hat.  In  solemn  silence  his 
officers  returned  the  salute,  and  watched  the  noble 
and  gracious  figure  of  their  beloved  chief  until  the 
boat  disappeared  from  sight  behind  the  point  of 
the  Battery. 


338  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

At  Philadelphia  he  stopped  a  few  days  and  ad 
justed  his  accounts,  which  he  had  in  characteristic 
fashion  kept  himself  in  the  neatest  and  most  me 
thodical  way.  He  had  drawn  no  pay,  and  had  ex 
pended  considerable  sums  from  his  private  fortune, 
which  he  had  omitted  to  charge  to  the  government. 
The  gross  amount  of  his  expenses  was  about  15,000 
pounds  sterling,  including  secret  service  and  other 
incidental  outlays.  In  these  days  of  wild  money- 
hunting,  there  is  something  worth  pondering  in  this 
simple  business  settlement  between  a  great  general 
and  his  government,  at  the  close  of  eight  years  of 
war.  This  done,  he  started  again  on  his  journey. 
From  Philadelphia  he  proceeded  to  Annapolis, 
greeted  with  addresses  and  hailed  with  shouts  at 
every  town  and  village  on  his  route,  and  having 
reached  his  destination,  he  addressed  a  letter  to 
Congress  on  December  20th,  asking  when  it  would 
be  agreeable  to  them  to  receive  him.  The  23d  was 
appointed,  and  on  that  day,  at  noon,  he  appeared 
before  Congress. 

The  following  year  a  French  orator  and  "  maitre 
avocat,"  in  an  oration  delivered  at  Toulouse  upon 
the  American  Revolution,  described  this  scene  in 
these  words  :  "  On  the  day  when  Washington  re 
signed  his  commission  in  the  hall  of  Congress,  a 
crown  decked  with  jewels  was  placed  upon  the  Book 
of  the  Constitutions.  Suddenly  Washington  seizes 
it,  breaks  it,  and  flings  the  pieces  to  the  assembled 
people.  How  small  ambitious  Caesar  seems  beside 
the  hero  of  America."  It  is  worth  while  to  recall 


PEACE.  339 

this  contemporary  French  description,  because  its 
theatrical  and  dramatic  untruth  gives  such  point 
by  contrast  to  the  plain  and  dignified  reality.  The 
scene  was  the  hall  of  Congress.  The  members 
representing  the  sovereign  power  were  seated  and 
covered,  while  all  the  space  about  was  filled  by  the 
governor  and  state  officers  of  Maryland,  by  military 
officers,  and  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the 
neighborhood,  who  stood  in  respectful  silence  with 
uncovered  heads.  Washington  was  introduced  by 
the  Secretary  of  Congress,  and  took  a  chair  which 
had  been  assigned  to  him.  There  was  a  brief 
pause,  and  then  the  president  said  that  "  the  United 
States  in  Congress  assembled  were  prepared  to  re 
ceive  his  communication."  Washington  rose,  and 
replied  as  follows : 

"  MR.  PRESIDENT  :  The  great  events,  on  which 
my  resignation  depended,  having  at  length  taken 
place,  I  have  now  the  honor  of  offering  my  sincere 
congratulations  to  Congress,  and  of  presenting  my 
self  before  them,  to  surrender  into  their  hands  the 
trust  committed  to  me,  and  to  claim  the  indulgence 
of  retiring  from  the  service  of  my  country. 

"  Happy  in  the  confirmation  of  our  independence 
and  sovereignty,  and  pleased  with  the  opportunity 
afforded  the  United  States  of  becoming  a  respec 
table  nation,  I  resign  with  satisfaction  the  appoint 
ment  I  accepted  with  diffidence  ;  a  diffidence  in  my 
abilities  to  accomplish  so  arduous  a  task,  which, 
however,  was  superseded  by  a  confidence  in  the 
rectitude  of  our  cause,  the  support  of  the  supreme 


340  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 

power  of  the  Union,  and  the  patronage  of  Heaven. 
The  successful  termination  of  the  war  has  verified 
the  most  sanguine  expectations ;  and  my  grati 
tude  for  the  interposition  of  Providence,  and  the 
assistance  I  have  received  from  my  countrymen, 
increases  with  every  review  of  the  momentous  con 
test."  Then,  after  a  word  of  gratitude  to  the  army 
and  to  his  staff,  he  concluded  as  follows :  "  I  con 
sider  it  an  indispensable  duty  to  close  this  last  sol 
emn  act  of  my  official  life  by  commending  the  in 
terests  of  our  dearest  country  to  the  protection  of 
Almighty  God,  and  those  who  have  the  superinten 
dence  of  them  to  his  holy  keeping. 

"  Having  now  finished  the  work  assigned  me,  I 
retire  from  the  great  theatre  of  action ;  and  bid 
ding  an  affectionate  farewell  to  this  august  body, 
under  whose  orders  I  have  so  long  acted,  I  here  of 
fer  my  commission,  and  take  my  leave  of  all  the 
employments  of  public  life." 

In  singularly  graceful  and  eloquent  words  his 
old  opponent,  Thomas  Mifflin,  the  president,  replied, 
the  simple  ceremony  ended,  and  Washington  left 
the  room  a  private  citizen. 

The  great  master  of  English  fiction,  touching  this 
scene  with  skilful  hand,  has  said  :  "  Which  was  the 
most  splendid  spectacle  ever  witnessed,  the  opening 
feast  of  Prince  George  in  London,  or  the  resigna 
tion  of  Washington  ?  Which  is  the  noble  charac 
ter  for  after  ages  to  admire,  —  yon  fribble  dancing 
in  lace  and  spangles,  or  yonder  hero  who  sheathes 
his  sword  after  a  life  of  spotless  honor,  a  purity 


PEACE.  341 

unreproached,  a  courage  indomitable,  and  a  con 
summate  victory?  " 

There  is  no  need  to  say  more.  Comment  or 
criticism  on  such  a  farewell,  from  such  a  man,  at 
the  close  of  a  long  civil  war,  would  be  not  only 
superfluous  but  impertinent.  The  contemporary 
newspaper,  in  its  meagre  account,  said  that  the  oc 
casion  was  deeply  solemn  and  affecting,  and  that 
many  persons  shed  tears.  Well  indeed  might 
those  then  present  have  been  thus  affected.  They 
had  witnessed  a  scene  memorable  forever  in  the 
annals  of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest  in  human  na 
ture.  They  had  listened  to  a  speech  which  was  not 
equalled  in  meaning  and  spirit  in  American  his 
tory  until,  eighty  years  later,  Abraham  Lincoln 
stood  upon  the  slopes  of  Gettysburg  and  uttered 
his  immortal  words  upon  those  who  died  that  the 
country  might  live. 


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